A Relationship As Told By Meals
by CoffeeAndConjunctions
Summary: A way to a man's heart is through his stomach, which begs the question as to how Grandma Lewis bagged Grandpa who was the cook of the family. It was a good thing Darcy was a fair hand at this. Or food brings the Avengers together and one ex-H.Y.D.R.A operative closer then she's sure how to deal with (WinterShock)
1. Pancakes and Lady Bits

i. Pancakes and Lady Bits

Light spills into the room, soft and slow in the blue hues of the early dawn. She doesn't notice at first, fingers hitting the keys in a constant rhythm, Jane's scribbles are laid out flat beneath the light of lamp her focus is singular—from paper to screen, digits moving without pause. Etta James crooning about church bells cut through the silence of the early hours or late hours if the fact she hadn't gone to bed yet was taken under consideration. Normally her earbuds would be tucked in snuggly in her ears but Clint had taken to sneaking behind her, chin hovering over her shoulder until she noticed and nearly jumped out of her skin when she was distracted. All the while his crooked grin grew wider and wider each time he managed to catch her unaware.

Which considering he was a professional spy meant it was a lot of the fucking time.

So J.A.R.V.I.S was playing D.J for her and the last playlist that had been accessed was Steve's, but good music was good music not matter the decade so she didn't bother to change to her own. Taking a moment to stretch her cramped fingers she notes the sun was beginning to crest over the impressive New York sky line. Saving the document she closes her laptop—new and improved thanks to her employment at Stark Industries, she was official science gopher slash guinea pig slash wrangler of the Triad. Or as HR liked to call her Project Manager of Applied Sciences, sounded fancier but hers was more accurate.

 _Really putting that PoliSci degree to work there Darcy._

Snorting at her own self deprecation she decides its too goddamn early (too late, whatever) for those kinds of thought but it seemed just the right time for pancakes. Delicious, buttery, smothered in honey (syrup was a classic but she liked honey, sue her) and fresh strawberries. Only it was going to be strawberries on the side since Pepper was in the building and no doubt would be up soon. Oh and Jane would need that weird agave syrup she was hooked on, with as many modifications as she'd need to make she might as well go the extra mile.

"Hey J-man?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis?"

"Can you tell our motley crew that today's menu will consist of a buttload of pancakes and toppings a la whatever the hell we have in the kitchen?"

It was weird at first just speaking to the out air but easy enough to get used to. Taking a half gallon of milk she dumps it in a jug and combines it with vinegar to cur. That would need to set for at least ten minutes before it was ready which was fine, batter needed to be made, fruit washed and condiments set out.

"Of course Miss Lewis-" the A.I's clipped tones paused for a moment, "Dr. Foster wishes me to express her distain at being woken this early on a Sunday and Miss Romanov is requesting coffee be made available. The others have given various degrees of confirmation to their attendance."

"Can you get that coffee going for me J? Got my hands full with this batter." Grandpa Lewis was the only cook her family had produced in generations before she'd come along and shown interest in learning what he had to teach. Growing up poor he had always been thrifty with ingredients and a supporter of hearty, home cooked meals. His pancakes were the best she'd ever had, hands down, even better then the swanky brunch place Pepper had taken her to once to introduce her the other members of Applied Science. Primarily she was assigned to Jane, Tony and Bruce when was in the Tower but she was also going to manage the schedule for the other underling and interns. It was a daunting task but in the end J.A.R.V.I.S helped with most of the organizing and she was really left delegating.

Which was cool and all but lacked the pizzaz of New Mexico and London.

Things were quiet, a more cliché inclined individual would follow that up with and ominous _too quiet_ but she hated that cryptic shit. Instead she settled this quiet into the safer category of **'Boring'** which she knew Stark would take as a personal offense if she ever uttered the words out loud. Still, it was a more mundane daily life then she'd had before—college had been full of new people, learning (yes, she liked learning) and yeah, maybe a Keger or two for weekends.

Mixing together the dry ingredients in the largest bowl (making sure not to forget the baking soda, secret to fluffiest pancakes ever) she could find—because there be super soldiers and Gods in these waters—she cracks a carton of eggs into the milk, puts in a few shakes of vanilla and butter before combining everything and whisking it all together. Letting the batter sit was important to let it work in the air bubbles from the vinegar and baking soda combining. Setting out various fruits (cause despite the fact that she didn't think anyone but her and Banner could identify the right end of a spatula the kitchen was always fully stocked) and preserves, she also took down Jane's weirdo syrup, the real Canadian stuff and her preferred orange-blossom honey.

Feeling magnanimous she also brings down the brightly colored marshmallows too—cause Clint was literally twelve and loved them, he wasn't in the Tower all that often to enjoy these Sunday get togethers so she'd indulge him. The first to arrive was Thor with a rumpled looking Jane following behind him, "Lady Darcy, always a pleasure to break fast with you-" (he says it like its two words and she honestly finds it adorable) he guides his lady love to a chair at the table and brings her a cup doctored with several spoonfuls of sugar before coming over to assist. He brings down plates, cups and utensils and sets the table all the while striking up idle chatter. Marvin Gaye has taken over for Etta for a while now and she mentally rolls her eyes at Wilson's influence on this playlist.

"J, can you please play brunch-munch playlist three?" Jane snorts into her coffee but its all she can manage before she consumes a second cup so Darcy just sends her the stink eye. Sinatra and horns take over for the mellow tunes of Marvin. Setting out the two griddle she slathers plenty of butter on them (listen, she subscribed to the Julia Child school of cooking) and watches it melt and swirls it around the pan to cover every inch. The pans is big enough to squeeze four decent sized pancakes per pan so it doesn't take too long before she's got a decent batch going. Natasha and Banner (and she's not gonna comment on the coincidence of how the Widow manages to always be running into the good Doc because she values her skin thank you very much) arrive next and settle in, like a gentleman Bruce pours first the russians mug of coffee then his own-his one cup of the week.

He strikes up a subdued conversation with Jane who replies in what she assumes are _highly_ intelligent grunts and Natasha just sips her coffee watching the exchange over the rim of her cup. Clint apperates (no really, he fucking has to be pulling some Harry Potter shit) next to her, hip cocked against the counter tossing up marshmallows in the air and catching them in his mouth. She doesn't so much as flinch (and she's proud of it) just raises a brow before handing over pancake laden plates for him to heap on the table.

Steve walks in fresh as a daisy (which is absurd seeing as its like, six thirty in the morning at most) engrossed in an argument with Wilson, he's flanked by Barnes who doesn't engage his companions but is looking less murder-death-kill today. Thor it would appear had decided pancakes simply won't be enough (eh, probably right) because he's taken it upon himself to whip out eggs and bacon at lighting speed (she's only slightly ashamed of that pun). Commander ' _Call me Maria'_ Hill was serving up toast and not for the first time she seriously considered putting bells on these people (where the hell did they keep crawling out from?). The last to arrive to no one's surprise are Tony and Pepper who looked pretty sexed up (good for them, at least someone was getting laid, well so was Jane...and if Bruce could then she was sure the Widow would take care of that soon.)

With the remainder of the pancakes flipped and plated she brings the last serving to the table and finds two seats empty, one between Steve and Pepper which Hil—Maria-takes with a smile at Pepper and an under the lashes look at Rogers who honest to God looks like he's about to blush, and the other between Natasha and Barnes.

Breakfast with the Russian mob it was.

Golden light is now filtering in and damn if it this wasn't a Kodak moment with all these ridiculously attractive people (even Barnes had a hobo-chic thing going on) all gathered over food. Putting down the final plate was like a signal for the others to begin when she was finally seated. At least three different conversation began, her attention jumped between all of them but she took part in none—content to simply be. Stacking her plate three pancakes high with a nice helping of eggs and bacon she reaches for the honey at the same time a metallic hand had wrapped around it before its owner snatches it back—the brush of metal cool against her fingers.

"Oh, sorry dude—my bad." picking up the honey she drizzles (and drizzles and drizzles) it over her pancakes and holds it out to Barnes. "I thought I was the only one who liked honey on my pancakes." She sense more then sees Natasha's attention shift to them. "Help yourself." He doesn't pick up the bottle until she's put it down on the table and slides it over before turning her back to her plate seemingly disinterested (anyone else and she would have called them out but this was Barnes and he had a whole theme park of issues going on in his head—so he got a pass).

They send compliments her way, Stark goes as far as logistically planning out the grand opening of her cafe (named _Tony's_ of course), over the pancakes. Accepting the praise as humbly as she is capable of being, she tells them to just not let her hard work go to waste. Not that it's a question whether or not there will be left overs, Thor is an enthusiastic eater but Steve might match him in appetite. Barnes is an efficient eater, putting away forkful after forkful like it might be taken away from him at any moment. No doubt it had been taken before and she finds herself angry at the though of what H.Y.D.R.A had done to him. She takes the plate with the last two pancakes and shifts it close to Barnes who pauses for the span of a breath before he takes those too and continues eating.

At the end of the meal Pepper excuses herself when J.A.R.V.I.S chimes in that she has an urgent call from the board—Tony follows to weasel away from the possibility of even having to do dishes—Hill and Clint are gone as quietly as they came but Sam and Steve are gathering dishes. Piling them in the sink and flowing smoothly into a wash and dry rhythm. Natasha slinks her way to sit on the counter near the two soldier and glances occasionally at the Foster/Banner brainstorm session.

Left with Barnes at her side, under the watchful eye of Rogers (God she hoped he didn't think he was being subtle) she turns and tries to look as harmless as possible which isn't hard, she's small, plump and more fragile looking then she was comfortable with.

"How did you like Grandpa Lewis pancakes?"

Safe, boring subject.

He looks at her as if he wants to check behind him to see if she's addressing someone else, she's never been this close to him—he's got the bluest eyes she's ever seen surrounded by thick, pointed lashes.

"They were good." he gives the barest nod more to himself then her, as if making sure the reply is sufficient "Very good, Ma'am".

He says ma'am with a duck of his head and rises from his seat to bring his dish and utensils to the sink, exchanges brief words with Steve and Natasha before making his exit. She tries not to think about the way _ma'am_ rolls off his tongue with a hint of Brooklyn to it and does these funny things to her lady bits (very pleasant thing to her lady bits).

Watching is ass as he leaves, because it is a sight worth watching she shakes her head and turns back to last of her meal (God, she really needed to add herself to the list of people being laid around here before she did something dumb, like jump poor, traumatized Barnes and riding him for all he was worth.)


	2. Milk In My Coco Puffs

ii. Milk in my Coco Puffs

Stumbling out of bed at the ass crack of dawn per Natasha's request (read: probably payback for using all of her super special coffee beans in a desperate moment to keep her science minions caffeinated, disguised as 'self defense' lessons) she sticks her legs into a part of leggins, then has to do it again when she realizes they are inside out (at leas her shoes weren't on yet), puts on a sports bra on top of her regular one and tames her fizzy hair into a high bun. Tucking her feet into a new pair of sneakers she wrestles on an oversized t-shirt (which has Mew-mew plastered across her chest) and makes her way to the kitchen.

Briefly she toys with idea of a hearty breakfast but has the gross mental picture of puking it all out if Natasha makes her get on the treadmill. So cereal it is—searching the cabinet she pulls out, Cheerios, Honey Bunches of Outs and Cookie Crisps (she almost settles for these) when she spies the Coco Puffs at the very back. On tip toes she manages to bring it down and is tipping the cereal into a bowl she glances down at her watch. Three minutes till she was scheduled to meet her doom, putting the boxes back she tucks a spoon in her mouth and splashes some milk on her cereal before dashing to the elevator—she can eat on the way. Its a smooth ride down and she's shoveling down the cereal like her life depends on it when it dings and metal doors open.

The Tower's gym is a thing of beauty according to Barton, most likely because it has a shooting range, but she finds that nearly all the tower's residents use the facilities (Bruce in the evenings for yoga, often joined by Pepper when she is in town are the most regularly scheduled attendees) with the exception of Jane and herself because Jane was naturally svelte and she was allergic to sweat that does come from a good tan or a little afternoon delight.

Still in a moment of weakness she'd agreed to let Natasha show her a thing or two about self-defense.

* * *

The sound of a body hitting the mat echos along the hall before she reaches the gym makes her aware that it is currently occupied. Rounding the corner she is not prepared for the sigh that greets her—spoon in mouth, milk dribbling down her chin she stares transfixed at bares expanse of Barnes chest. He's ducking a blow from Steve (who's still clothed torso she ignores in favor of the peep show Barnes is giving) and it engages all the muscles of his back, they tense and expand beneath his skin.

Steve's style is aggressive, constant forward momentum (he's unrelenting in his attacks and it's a real contrast to the controlled appearance he keeps in public) but all of it seems futile against the fluid movements of Barnes body, he bobs and weaves beneath punches but when Steve finally manages to grab on for a take down Barnes twists his body in a familiar move-legs wrapped around Steve's neck before he twists in the air and sends the super soldier flying (landing neatly on his feet with a wicked grin on his face—it's all teeth and tension)

"I'd say I'm sorry to be late but it looks like you've kept yourself entertained."

A yelp leaves her mouth before she can really register Natasha's arrival—she looks smug, arms crossed and brow raised in her signature pose—for a brief moment her eyes meet the steel blue ones of the man whose goodies she'd been shameless in admiring before he ducks his head and a curtain of hair covers his face as he leans over to help Steve rise.

"Hey Nat, Darcy—just in time to save me from another ass kicking—we were just about done if you wanted the mats. "

Hands at his waist Steve strikes the Superman pose, million watt smile in place as if getting his ass handed to him was the best thing single sliced bread. Barnes had migrated over to his shirt and shoes, tucking on the long sleeved shirt.

Damn, just damn.

His abs flexed when the shirt came over his head and she had to look away, but looking away meant looking at Steve (whose bbfl she had been eye fucking) or Natasha who looked at her like she was a fly caught in her web.

So she does the only thing she can, takes another mouthful of coco puffs (which are soggy now, gross) and nods her head in thanks. The russian exchanges pleasantries for another moment, Barnes has joined them now standing beside Steve. Avoiding eye contact at all costs because she had been oogling, he saw her oogling pretty blatantly (Natasha saw her, oh God she'd never hear the end of this from Barton) and chowing down on coco puffs Darcy is sure she's never looked more ridiculous. And this was coming from the girl who had once put on a Spice Girls puppet show (granted that decision had a lot of tequila guiding it)

A shadow looms over her, because she's small enough that pretty much everything looms over her (fucking Jane was a inch taller) and she flickers her eyes up to look at Barnes face (with its stupidly amazing bone structure and those lips—oh God, he's biting them! He's...he's holding out his hand.) Blinking at the appendage she must have a perplexed look on her face because he just sighs and leans closer, hand hovering nearer and nearer (is this a boob thing, please let this be a boob thing. No wait, bad Darcy.) before he's gently tugging the bowl out of her hands.

"I'll take this up for you."

Oh, right.

"So not a boob thing?"

A chocking sound comes from her left, Steve looks like he's swallowed his tongue (she doesn't look at Natasha because reasons) and Barnes clutches the bowl to his chest like a surprised grandmother being mugged, shaking his head left to right.

"No, Ma'am."

"Right, duh. Okay, yeah." If Thor was a merciful God he would strike her down with lighting now (briefly she considers asking Heimdal to open the Bifrost in a desperate escape.) And because at this point she's no filter mode she cocks back her arm and punches his shoulder and lets out a laugh that would make a hyena pack proud.

"Well then, thanks Buckaroo!"

Buckaroo—fucking kill her now.

Let it end.

And as if the universe is finally giving her what she wants Darcy finds herself flat on her back with a metric fuck ton of Super Soldier straddling her—milk pooling beside her head—he had her wrists clutched in his metal hand and the flesh one is tangled in her hair.

"Holy shit!"

"Bucky!"

Steve doesn't make a grab for Barnes like she thinks he will, instead he waits (probably because surprising a brainwashed, ex POW is a bad idea, right up there with fucking **punching** one!) but he doesn't have to, shaking his head like a wet dog Barnes lifts himself off of her bringing her back to her feet in a smooth motion before letting go of her hand as if she'd burned him.

Without a word he leaves the gym, Steve hot on his heels after he calls out a rushed sorry over his shoulder. Rubbing her wrists, hopping to increase the circulation Darcy can't do a thing but watch them walk away, the echoes of Bucky following them out the double doors.

"That was stupid." Natasha seems unruffled as always.

"I panicked."

"I know, that's why we'll train. You need discipline."

"I need a _muzzle_."

"You aren't my type sweetheart."

"Fuck off, Nat. I just saw my life flash before my eyes."

(It was a lie, she had been consumed by nothing but Barnes and his stupid, full lips. Oh and the thought of him snapping her neck. No biggie.)

"With training you could prevent that."

Not dignifying that blatant lie with an actual sentence she just snorts and crosses her arms.

"Alright, not from Barnes but I doubt you'll be complaining about him getting you on your back."

"Natasha!"

"What? Are you serious 'boob thing' because that was about a subtle as Steve."

"Really? You're one to talk, when was it exactly that you figured out green was your color?"

"Darcy."

"Not so fun when someone's doing it to you, huh?"

(She was officially suicidal, pestering the Widow when she'd come down here to voluntarily take a beating from her.)

"On the mats, Lewis." Natasha smiles, an honest to god smile.

(Fuck.)

* * *

Later when she limps back to the kitchen for a bag of peas to put on her pride, okay on her elbows (sore from the various take downs she'd tried to prevent from cracking her skull with the Widow's instructions) she sees Barnes sitting at the table fiddling with a protein bar and what looks to be one of Tony's signature smoothies. Approaching the table with every intentions of apologizing she finds the words wont come, so she just lingers near him.

Protein bar and smoothie slide across the table toward her, Barnes tucks a stray bit of hair behind his ear, he looks up at her from his seat (those baby blues look so uncertain and pleading) and she's taken aback when she realizes that he's extending an olive branch. Slowly raising her hand, making sure he can see what her plan is she lays her hand on his shoulder for a brief moment before reaching for the offerings.

"Thanks, Barnes."

"My name is Bucky, Ma'am."

Smiling so wide she can feel her cheeks straining she tries to hide it behind a sip of the smoothie.

"Alright then, Bucky."

(She doesn't give him leave to say her name, mostly because this ma'am thing was hitting a kink she didn't know she had but also because of the hint of a smile that followed.)


	3. Tea Parties and Bear Claws

iii. Tea Parties and Bear Claws

It's not that she and Barnes—who was now Bucky but her inner monologue hadn't had time to adjust to that quite yet—were bosom buddies after the unfortunate...bosom incident. More like they were acquaintances who shared the same apartment complex. He occupied Cap's private floor several levels away from the R&D labs and she was delegated to the floor right above the labs (okay, so actually she had been meant to share Thor's floor with Jane but those assholes had seriously obnoxious reunion sex) they weren't as grand as the Avenger suites but it was more space then she would have ever been able to afford in New York and just a few floors down from her office (which she'd used now a total of six times, mostly she hung out in the various labs trying to keep her bosses and minions from dying or blowing up—well, blowing up everything.)

Commander Maria 'I'm Not S.H.I.E.L.D Anymore' Hill shared the floor with her and they got along surprisingly well considering the disaster this could have been—Hill had a fancy titled of her own from Stark Industries payroll but Darcy knew she was the unofficial, official Handler of the Team. After two weeks of face-to-mat sessions with Natasha, Hill had shown up at her door (at the ass crack of dawn because these fuckers knew no other time of day) primly dressed in running clothes requesting (in a tone that left no room for argument) that Darcy join her for a morning jog. So into the sports bra she squeezes because while she could mouth of to Natasha sometimes, there was an authority to Hill that left her feeling a little awe struck at the woman.

When she grew up she wanted to be a less terrifying version of Maria Hill.

The first five minutes are spent stretching out hamstrings and quads, Hill stresses the important of proper form, before they start at a slow, steady pace Darcy knows is for her benefit. Now, she was no slouch in this department, after New Mexico and London she had taken up doing a few miles on the tread mill when she could find the time but the asphalt was much more punishing then the smooth rhythm of rubber treads. Hill doesn't make small talk but there is an amiable silence between them—out of everyone in the Tower only Hill really knew that she went through, because she did it herself (so yeah, Maria Hill. Totally her 'if I had to pick a girl').

Managing the lives of others was no easy task.

She manages to keep going for about forty minutes before a stitch starts forming at her side and she slows to a stop next to a bench, sucking in big gulps of air she bends at the waist and holds a finger up to Hill asking for a moment. Several deep breaths later and a few odd looks from the early birds out and about she's fairly confident she can keep going but Hill has other plans.

"Place two blocks from here serves a mean Bear Claw. Want to grab a bite?"

"Hill, I love you—let me have your babies? Nat never gives me pastries after kicking my ass, normally only doles out Russian wisdom about suffering."

A perfectly sculpted brow rises in synch with the corner of her mouth (she made Hill smile, in like a normal people way—yay her) before she shakes her head and motions for Darcy to follow, which she does with renewed vigor in her step. They make small talk on the way and now Darcy thinks the no talking thing was more for her benefit then anything else. Hill is a surprisingly social creature, greeting the cashier at Ruth's Cafe familiarly, she introduces Darcy as a coworker and orders 'the works' which means that after they sit down two steaming mugs are placed on the table and a plate of assorted pastries too.

Immediately Hill goes for the Bear Claw, tearing a chuck with her fingers before popping it into her mouth (it's a strange thing to notice but Darcy recalls this is the way that Clint and Natasha eat as well, slow measured bites as if looking for something in the food. Did that level of paranoia come pre-packaged or was it learned she wonders.) Taking up a danish bursting with filling, looks like cinnamon apple, she tears out a chunk of her own (when in Rome, right) and lets her eyes flutter close at the flaky sweetness of the pastry.

"Ugh, I can feel my hips expanding but it's so worth it."

"Should bring you back to try the Meatloaf sometime."

"Hey, Hill?"

"Mhmm?" the sound is murmured behind the rim of her mug.

"As cool as this is, and believe me this is tres cool. I feel like I need to ask why and hope you don't take it the wrong way."

"You're learning, that's good—never taken anything at face value if you can ask why." Hill nods and puts down her mug, "Romanov's lessons are a good idea, but it takes time to become effective. So I am giving you a lesson of my own. When you see something going wrong, you run—as far and fast as you can. Let the Team do their job, help those you can. But run, its the best defense."

Brows furrow and she feels her face pulling into a scowl, "You don't think I can take care of myself?"

"I don't want to have to think of you taking care of yourself. I want to know you'll be safe because you can run far and fast."

"Like a coward."

"Like a survivor, there is no shame in living to fight another day. It's not bravery to pick a fight you can't win—it's stupidity." Folding her arms over the table she leans forward, blue eyes drilling into her own. " Learn from Natasha but keep yourself safe, for my sake if not your own."

"You aren't my keeper, Maria. You don't have to be Team Mom for me."

"Don't be purposefully obtuse, I am not insulting you. I'm giving you an evaluation."

"I though you were giving me cardiac arrest through running and pastries."

Snorting in an undignified manner which doesn't fit with her image of Hill at all she watches the older woman lean back against the booth. "Just, try and have a little self preservation is all I ask."

"Okay, I will make you a deal. We make this delightful torture a weekly thing and we got ourself an accord."

"I can do that, Lewis."

* * *

That night in the common room, well past midnight, she is fixated on her talk with Hill. Darcy's never been the 'look before you leap' type so she can see why Hill would think she's liable to get herself hurt by leaping into a fray she has no place being in but she's got her taser (she'd survived New Mexico and London) and that had to count for something. Living with so many extraordinary people could really put a damper on self esteem when one stopped to think about it, which is why she made a point to rarely do so.

Mulling over the deeper meaning of Hill's words (because this is Hill and nothing is just whats on the surface) she doesn't hear the faint footfalls of someone moving around in the kitchen, her back is turned to the appliances and she's clutching a cold mug of tea untouched from when she'd come in to have a cup hoping to soothe her racing mind. The cold mug is plucked from her hand, replaced by a new steaming one and the warmth feels wonderful against her chilled hands. Barnes—Bucky-sits down without much sound beside her and starts scooping spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and lets a spoonful hover over her cup before she shakes her head now, so he adds that one to his mug too.

Stirring the liquid in careful swirls his voice, still rough with sleep is unexpected, "Want to talk about it?"

Silent for a moment she shakes her head and sips from her fresh mug of tea, "Not really—you?"

"No."

Minutes tick away but she doesn't feel the need to speak again—they are offering each other the support of silence which is nice, it's not intrusive and it doesn't feel like it needs to be a thing (she doesn't want to make this self-pitying a think, it's not attractive) but eventually she swallows the dregs of her tea and pillows her head on folded arms supported by the table. Head angled so she can look at Bucky's profile she maps out the shape of his nose a little broader then would be considered handsome and his shorter layers swing against his chin—stubbled with much more then a five o'clock shadow—a piece of her own dark hair falls over her eyes. She too comfortable to unfold herself to push it out of the way so she blows out a few short breaths hoping to displace the strands to no avail.

Warm calloused fingers brush against her cheek, when he tucks the strands behind her ears his finger tips graze the shell of her ear and she can't suppress a shiver. Most of her face is covered by her forearms (there is a God and he is keeping her from making a fool of herself again) and his fingers don't linger any longer then it takes to get the job done. He goes back to watching the sky line and she returns to mapping out the planes of his face (it's a nice face, with a high brow and a touch of bronze to his complexion) it could be minutes or hours but eventually the exhaustion of the past week catches up with her and she's lulled to sleep by steady breaths and the occasional shifting of metal plates.

When she wakes up Bucky is standing over her with a soft look on his face, it's more open and relaxed then she's ever seen it, an afghan normally found in the lounge is draped across her back—courtesy of Barnes she would assume.

"Wha' time s'it? "

"Late."

"Mhmm, that's a good time."

"Suppose that's true, it's quiet—hard to find in this place."

"Mmmm" her eyes are dropping lower and the calming timber of his voice is pulling her back to sleep when the hand on her shoulder gives her a quick little shake.

"Come on, off to bed."

"Couch?"

"You drive a hard bargain Ma'am."

Barnes supports most of her weight as they make their way to the couch (she might be exaggerating the sleepiness a little but she can't help it when he's all solid muscle and sends out heat like a furnace) the afghan drags on the floor like a cape behind her. The couch is long and deep, she curls up easily into the cushions, cocooned in the afghan. Seeing her settled in he makes to leave but she catches his finger loosely in her own (he stiffens but doesn't try and rip her fingers off which is improvement.)

"Next time, if you want, we can talk."

"Next time, now sleep."

"Yes, Sir."

He squeezes her fingers briefly and then walks out of the room, snuggling deeper into the couch she succumbs to sleep. In the morning Bruce would find her tucked away into the corner of the massive L-shaped couch and would let her sleep another hour or two.

Poor kid looked like she needed it.


	4. Shaken Not Stirred

iv. Shaken Not Stirred

The Minions are having a party, something big and sciency had been accomplished but all Darcy could really tell you about it was that it had been a nightmare to organize and keep the funding properly documented (even with J.A.R.V.I.S and she'd been ready to strangle Randy Saltzman, Project Leader which was how he'd introduced himself to every Tom, Dick and Stan that walked into the Lab) but it was over so they decided that booze and dance was the way to go. She's surprised to get an invite, she wasn't particularly close to the Minions, sure she brought coffee and donuts and let them talk ideas at her when they needed to but she wasn't really part of them.

Same as she wasn't really part of the Avenger's either, not really.

 _ _Darcy Lewis, professional hanger-on.__

Yet Lauren seems genuine in her invite and it had been ages since she'd left the Tower for anything that could be solely delegated to the fun column (God, even her fun was being prioritized. Pepper would be proud) or the 'probably a bad idea' column so she agrees. Friday comes and already dressed for a night in New York in impractical looking heels (which are actually super comfy) and a black sequin dress that is modest looking enough until she starts moving in it (then it calls attention to the sway of her hips and the hint of newly forming muscles of her thighs, courtesy of Maria and Nat). Pairing it with a blazer she's ready to go when J.A.R.V.I.S chimes in with a bit of bad news. It seems that Pepper had not signed the paper copies of the new project funding and it needed to be submitted for Board Approval come Monday.

So she hops on the elevator and makes a pit stop to her office to grab the redundancy copy she keeps and stands impatiently in the elevator on the ride up. Fluffing her curls out and studying her reflection on the gleaming doors seemingly satisfied with her handy work. Doors part and J.A.R.V.I.S prompts her that Pepper is in the main lounge with the Team (great, just great). Squaring her shoulders she struts into the room, these heels don't really permit much other then strutting, and is greeted by a wolf whistle coming from Clint who sends her a wink.

Ignoring Clint, because she did not have the time to actually deal with him (she was gonna be late meeting the Minions as it was, she'd sent a text to Lauren saying she'd be a little late) she just flips him off on her way to Pepper.

"Boss Lady, I need your autograph on these documents."

"Darcy-" Pepper has this air about her, like you can't help but want to impress her "Oh God, is this the Helsmer Project funding? I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner."

"No biggie, keeping track of the boring stuff is whatcha pay me for."

With a flourish she signs without reading, she doesn't hand back the proposal she uses it to sweep her from head to toe before tucking it in beside her, no doubt planning to file it away herself (Best Boss Ever), "Hot date, tonight?"

"Going native with the Minions."

"That dress doesn't look like it's hiding a taser." Natasha pours herself into the set next to Pepper, fingers playing with a strand of her copper hair (if Darcy where a gambler she would bet that the good Doc had a good view of the show the Russian was putting on) eyes narrowed in that evaluating stare of hers that tends to unnerve people.

"That's because it doesn't."

"Mhmmm, text me when you get there and before you leave."

"Yes, Mother."

It happened so fast she wouldn't have caught it if she hadn't been spending so much time with Natasha, her eyes lowered for a split second as if she couldn't hold Darcy's gaze, before she's the unruffled Black Widow again.

"Need Happy to drive you?" Pepper offers, tucking her legs under herself on the couch, a glass of white wine back in her hand.

"Got an uber coming already."

"Enjoy yourself just remember you are still their Superior in the morning."

"So no Tequila."

"I would advise against it."

Rolling her eyes she leaves both women on the couch and waives good bye to Banner (she'd been right, she'd been so right) Wilson and Clint. Jane and Thor are probably testing the durability of their bed right now. Rogers and Barnes are notably absent, which isn't uncommon, they could be out on a mission since Hill was M.I.A too.

Glancing down at her phone while she waits for the elevator, noting she was already fifteen minutes late and that the driver had an ETA of five, she doesn't look up from the screen right away when the doors open. A throat clearing has her glancing up at the occupied elevator.

"Going down?"

The Captain and the Soldier are in full tac gear inside, a little dirty (Steve's blonde hair in disarray) but with no obvious signs of injury. Now, she'd seen pictures of the Winter Soldier in full regalia but she's finding it hard to reconcile the man whose quiet presence she found so comforting to the one before her now. Strapped into leather, smelling of gun powder and smoke, he is another being all except for his eyes (slow blinking and the brightest blue) those eyes she recognized.

"Uhmm yeah,"

They shift to make room for her, the cart is big enough that they don't have to touch but Darcy almost wants to reach out and see if this towering figure is a mirage. There's a little bit of small talk between her and Steve, he asks about her plans and compliments (looks at Barnes expectantly but he is making a point not to look at her—it's okay, she's trying not to look at him either, only with less success).

When they reach Cap's floor Barnes lingers in the threshold of the elevator and Steve leaves with little more then a questioning look. She thinks he might say something (part of her hopes it's a compliment like Steve's) but he just steps back and ducks his head in parting when the doors close.

What the actual fuck was that?

* * *

Knocking back a shot Vodka with an ease that would make Natasha proud (it's not Tequila she tells the disapproving face of Pepper in her mind) Lauren and Tristan let out a whoop beside her as they smack down their own glasses. She's feeling more relaxed then she has in months, as much as she loves the Team she constant feels as if she's trying to prove her worth or justifying her presence but here with the Minions she's just Darcy. They'd chosen a fairly upscale night club and they'd all made small talk as the line moved slowly at the entrance, once they were finally in a table was stalked and claimed and the liquor had flown freely.

Free of the blazer its not long before someone comes over and asks her to dance, she accepts because his hair is blonde and his eyes a warm brown (and she can't shake the lingering look the last pair of blue eyes she'd seen had given her) her body sways to the music with the ease of practice and the aid of alcohol. Two songs later she is back at the table and Ethan (the blonde cutie now has a name) had joined them for another drink. Another few dances and she's following Ethan to a dark corner, it's not very classy but a girl has needs and a good little bit of necking might be exactly what she needs.

He pushes open the door to the back without removing his lips from hers, she follows without teetering on in her heels (because she's a motherfucking boss) and has her pressed against the wall in no time. A sharp pain at her neck has her pushing him away.

"Dude easy on the tee-"

Words are left hanging, unfinished in the cool night air because he is holding a needle in his hand and a stoic expression has replace the easy smile he'd worn all night. The world falls of kilter, slumping against the wall is the only way she can keep herself up.

"Sleep tight."

Slurring out a 'fuck you' is the last thing she consciously does.

* * *

"Ms. Romanov."

Natasha doesn't jar awake or slowly rises from slumber, she simply is asleep one moment and awake the next (the Red Room was not kind to those whose vigilance was not constant)

"Ms. Lewis has yet to return to the Tower, I sent the messages as you requested but have not received a reply. Upon further investigation I find I am unable to access the GPS on her phone anymore. Last know check in was two hours ago near the Canadian border."

Springing from bed she tells J.A.R.V.I.S to wake up Barton and Hill, have them meet her at the helipad. Making quick work of getting dressed, they couldn't be traveling by land if they were already in Canada.

Who they were was the question.

Hill and Barton are all ready, Quinjet is prepping to go when she arrives.

"Nat what the hell is going on?"

"Lewis is being flown over the Canadian border, J.A.R.V.I.S can't track her anymore. Someone dumped the phone." she replies to Hill's question, the other woman's jaw sets as her teeth clench.

"H.Y.D.R.A?"

"Would make sense-" Clint practically growls from the pilot seat, "She has access to the Tower, knows schedules and protocols. Damn it."

J.A.R.V.I.S voice fills the space of the jet when he informs them of an incoming call. Steve's face pops on the screen, he looks like he's just woken up—his rumpled bed sheets confirm what his groggy look is suggesting. "Someone care to fill me in on what is going on? J.A.R.V.I.S activated priority one mission status."

"Lewis has been taken. We suspect H.Y.D.R.A."

"I'm on my way, five minutes."

Captain America arrives in three with Falcon and the Winter Soldier flanking him. Once the platform rises Clint takes off to the last known ping of Darcy's GPS.

"Stark is working on re-establishing a connection, trying to see if the device recorded any frequencies he can latch on to." Steve remains standing near the cockpit, Sam and Maria are looking over hologram maps of the location trying to figure out a reason why they are headed north. Natasha is seated next to Barnes who is running weapons checks on his gear with an intensity that makes her nervous.

"And Thor?"

Shaking his head Steve sighs, "We can't afford anything but stealth. If it comes to it he can be with is a short time."

"He won't like it."

"We'll deal with it when the time comes, for now we need to stay focused."

* * *

A ringing in her ear refuses to subside, blinking away the haze of forced slumber Darcy notes that she's been left unbound, the cell is empty—not even a cot, just concrete walls. Shaky at first she rises to her feet (they are bare, no more strappy heels) her blazer was left in the club she assumes and the chill of the room seeps deep into her bones. She doesn't have to wait long before someone comes to collect her, she's terrified but tries to keep her head high and expression blank (she's not succeeding, her lips are quivering she can feel them)

Florescent light bounces off the too white walls of the room, it's occupied by Ethan (or whatever the fuck his name might be) more uniformed soldiers and an older gentleman his salt and pepper hair and bespoke suit made for a dashing appearance.

"Darcy Lewis, twenty six. Project Manager of Applied Science at Stark Industries. Present at first contact with Avenger Thor. Quite the resume you've been building for yourself Ms. Lewis, surely this is merely the surface. I'd wager there is so much you can share with us."

Chin stubbornly jutting out she crosses her arms and doesn't respond. Her stomach is queasy and she's not sure if it's from the drugs they pumped into her or from the Vodka (considering all the liquor she's had it's impressive she's so put together, scaring yourself sober is apparently a thing) but her voice is strong despite being a little hoarse.

"I ain't in a sharing mood. It's what happens when you kidnap people."

Salt and Pepper smiles at her, it's almost grandfatherly but it doesn't reach his eyes. With a nod of his head the goon beside her turns with impressive speed, his fist colliding with her abdomen in a flash of pain—bile rises in her throat and she had to choke it back when he falls to her knees.

"Now, Ms. Lewis—this can go in a much more civilized way if you would only co-operate."

"Screw you."

"Very well, I always prefer the hard way."

* * *

Fourteen hours pass and they are no closer to finding Darcy, they've hit three abandoned factories in Canada and no sign of anything. Steve gives in and makes the call to Thor who reacts about as well as expected—the call is cut short when he calls for Heimdall to open the Bifrost and is gone. It's not a long wait before the thud of boots hitting the roof of the jet is heard, Clint lowers the platform and Thor enters in full Asgardian armor.

He stands nose to nose with Steve, "You will __never__ purposefully deceive me again thusly, Captain. You are a loyal friend and that loyalty grants you one pardon, one." Steve nods stiffly and the others relax when its clear a fight wont break out. Natasha notes Barnes had still has a finger to the trigger of his gun but doesn't call attention to it.

"Heimdal has located Lady Darcy, I will guide you—follow closely."

* * *

Darcy is tied up now, they hadn't expected her to know how to fight—she manages to catch two of her goons unaware before they bring her down again but she's drawn blood now and they are more cautious. Her jaw hurts and the front of her dress is caked with bile from when the last stomach shot had cause her to vomit. One eye is swelling closed but the worst of her injuries is her left arm, they'd broken it with sickening snap and she'd screamed and screamed when they would step on it.

She'd like to say she didn't give them anything, that she held her own against the torture. But she hadn't, once they'd broken her arm a steady stream of words had come out of her mouth. Answering questions mundane at first, security codes—guard rotations—stem off the pain but once they started asking about the __Soldier__ (When does he leave the Tower? When is he likely to be alone?) she can't answer, just the thought of helping them get their hands on Bucky (quiet Bucky who liked honey on his pancakes, patient Bucky who made her tea and tucked her in, uncertain Bucky who looked at her with those haunted eyes) is enough to give her strength to endure—the only sounds they got from her at that point were sobs and screams.

Another blow to her broken arm causes her vision to swim, blood is dripping into her eyes—they must have cut her brow—she'll pass out again soon (good, her vocal chords could use a break) but then the room is thrown into chaos and gun shots echo along the walls. There is not enough physical strength left in her to flinch at the noise.

Leather, gunpowder and the clean scent of soap engulf her and she's gathered up against a solid chest—the bodies around them all have neat little holes in their foreheads but she barely registers that—he's being careful not to jostle her arm but she can't help but whimper when he squeezed her tight against him. Through the haze of pain she manages to lock eyes with him for a brief moment.

"I didn't tell them Bucky, kept you __safe__." Her fingers pat his cheek and a delirious smile stretches her lips before she is out cold.

* * *

The red afghan is tucked around her shoulders again, her cast itches but at least the bruises on her face are healing nicely—her brow will have a scar running through it now but it made her look at little badass so it wasn't a total loss—Bucky, her silent sentinel since they'd brought her back a weeks ago, took a cup of hot chocolate from her hand and set it on the floor in front of the couch near her head (she's sprawled out watching her second day of House Hunters) and settled in next to it.

Careful fingers tangle themselves in his hair, softer then she had thought it would be, and blunt finger nails scratch at his scalp (this wasn't the first time she'd done this, the first time she had been so high off the good shit that she'd spent a half hour petting people's hair like they were dogs with her good hand. Even Natasha had endured it with little fuss) he melts against the couch and lets his head fall back.

Touch starved.

That's what he was, everyone (herself included) had build a bubble around Barnes not to make him uncomfortable or trigger anything dangerous in him but they'd also denied him the casual touches that come from friendship. So now that she knows it's not unwelcome she allows her tactile nature to take over. Fighting against sleep,she brings her head closer to his until her forehead is touching his cheek and her nose is buried in his hair (shampoo and the scent of their dinner's spices cling to him).

"Hey, Barnes?"

"Mhmmm."

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good."

Closing her eyes she curls further into herself and plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Bucky?"

"Mm."

"My friends call me Darcy."


	5. Sauce Has To Simmer

v. Sauce Has To Simmer

By week two most of her bruising is gone, she's ready to go back to work because the thought of how much paper work was piling up was gonna start keeping her up at night soon (along with the fab new nightmares of her time with Grandpa H.Y.D.R.A, she never did find out that fuckers name) and Pepper signs off on her returning to work part time—she doesn't argue and understand why after her first day back, she's exhausted but that night she's too tired to dream.

The Minions welcome her back with subdued but genuine smiles and make a point of having her swear never to leave them in the hands of Fergus McTosh again (her direct underling) because he only ever brought munchkins, never sprung for the actual donuts and made decaf coffee for the night shift— _decaf_.

It's good to know she's been missed.

In her office with it's glass walls, which could be made opaque with a request to J.A.R.V.I.S she finds a mountain of get well soon cards (and chocolates too, God did not one have mercy on her hips) which have her smiling through most of the morning that is spent catching up with The Schedule (yes, it's Capitalized because it is basically the back bone of R&D). Around lunch time she gets an IM from Karen her secretary slash gate keeper that she has a a visitor.

 _Lewis, D_ _: Who? Is there an appointment I missed?_

 _Parker, K_ _: Of course not, who do you think runs your schedule? Says his name is James._

 _Lewis, D_ _: On my way._

The click of her kitten heels mix with the muted chatter of the labs below—she'd wondered why the labs weren't sound proof until the first emergency and then she understood why—as she comes around the corner to her floor's lobby. He's wearing blue today, a jewel toned button down that she thinks must belong to Steve or been forced on him by Steve since Barnes was more of a comfort dresser but damn if that color isn't working for him.

"What brings you to R&D today, Mr. Barnes?" her tone is light and teasing.

"It's lunch time. Bruce is cooking."

Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans he somehow manages to look up at her through those dark lashes of his, a real feat considering he's about a foot taller then she is. Clearly he's uncomfortable in this new setting from the corner of her eyes she sees the way Karen perks up at the interaction even though she's trying really hard to look busy and blend in—there will be gossiping later. Hell, she could do worse then having a rumor or two about handsome men coming to escort her to lunch.

"Nice, I'll meet you there in a few minutes—I just need to finish out some work."

Ducking his head in his customary goodbye to herself and Karen he strides out of the office without another word. Waiting a beat she turns to back to Karen and holds up a finger before the dam breaks and the questions start flooding in.

"Whatever scenario you've telemundo'd in your head, get rid of it Kare—he's a friend."

"Of course, _Ma'am._ " she elongates the word with a mock Brooklyn accent and Darcy just shakes her head and leaves, there will be no winning that one.

Look, she can admit it Barnes was a handsome man (she'd be blind not to sees those jeans clinging to thick, well muscled thighs) and after he'd carried her from that room, well it would have taken a stronger woman then her not to have a little bit of a hero worship. But that was it, he was a very troubled man—with issues, lots of issues—and the last thing he needed was her mooning over him.

So she tried not to read to much into anything.

Bruce had made lunch, Bucky was being nice.

Period.

End of sentence.

A cigar was just a goddamned cigar.

* * *

Week four sees the return of her morning runs with Hill, her lessons with Nat will have to wait until the cast is off and she's cleared by a Doctor after completing PT (which she is not looking forward too) Spring has arrived in full force and she's glad the cast will be off soon (she's worried about tan lines and is happy she can worry about petty shit still).

She had not appreciated the lesson Hill had been trying to teach but she understood now, so every day they push a little farther—go a little faster to the point where they now have to double back on Saturdays when they can stop by Ruth's. Hill for her part doesn't say I told you so, just shows up in the early morning ready for a run with the latest break room gossip for when they sit down for coffee (she was never in the Break Room itself but somehow all information _always_ got to Maria, all of it.)

They get looks from people, she rightly looks like someone kicked the crap out her but Hill is efficient in sending out a withering glare to the more obvious ones.

* * *

It takes six week (forty-two days of cellophane wrapping before showers, which sucked) for her cast to come off, by then it has become a hodgepodge of drawings and signatures and she keeps it as a souvenir. Rogers had drawn this rad little caricature of them all playing frisbee with his shield, it was adorable, had taken him the better part of an afternoon (telling stories about the scrapes her new shadow had gotten him in and out of) but she'd never seen him so comfortable in his own skin as when he was sketching.

Bucky had stationed himself by her knee, dark head pillowed by her thigh and only added the occasional commentary as if the story was drawing out the memory. He normally wasn't willing to have prolonged touch (a brush of hand when she walked down the hall with Clint, help with her jacket when it got stuck because of her cast in the common room) with her when there was an audience but Steve was a calming presence for him so she found herself the meat of a Super Soldier sandwich on the couch that afternoon.

It's not huge leap as to why Steve asks to speak with her a few days later.

They don't go out like she might with Hill or even Natasha and Clint who are good at blending in because he is Captain Fucking America and everyone knows his face, instead he catches her coming out of her office and corners (and she says corners because she's been avoiding him, she recognizes that look) her in the elevator with a latte and a too bright smile.

"So you and Bucky—"

"Oh God, Steve. No, I am not about to get the _shovel talk_ from Captain America."

"Shovel talk?"

"You know, the what are your intensions toward my 'place name of loved one here' talk?"

"Oh, I see."

A moment of silence passes.

"But what are—"

"Damn it Steve. Look, Barnes and I are friends. Like you and Nat, or even like you and Maria. Ohhhhh, well now that's interesting."

"What is?" He is looking straight ahead now.

"Oh not much, just the way you almost crawled out your skin when I said Hill's name."

"You are trying to deflect."

"Yeah, kinda wasn't being subtle about it."

"Just hear me out for a second, alright?"

He look so earnest and well meaning, she can't tell if it's an act but if it is give the man an Oscar. Nodding she waits with her arms crossed ready to defend herself and the newly cultivated friendship she and Barnes are creating.

"I think you are good for him—he's more in touch with the present with you and clearly you care for him—I just want to make sure you are ready for the fall out."

"Fall out?"

Blonde hair is sticking up a little from where he is running his hands.

"He wants to go after H.Y.D.R.A."

"Isn't that what you are all doing?"

"Not like him, it's consuming him—it's—he thinks it's all he has left."

"And you don't know what will happen once the mission is completed."

"No, I don't."

* * *

J.A.R.V.I.S is playing one of her classical music playlists (It could Bruce Needs A Time Out or Natasha Was Here, she's honestly not sure) Bruce is working on the cork of a bottle beside her as she cuts up the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. Tomato sauce full of meat balls is simmering on two cook tops because they make behemoth portions of food for Team dinners. The pasta is already done cooking and she's just working on getting everything onto plates for the other to bring to the table.

There is a formal dinning room on this floor but after seeing how most of the team had to stand as they had meals around the too small table located in the actual kitchen Tony had moved a larger one in—the open floor plan made it so it wasn't cramped so much as cozy. Shostakovich Second Waltz begins playing, an upbeat tune that she knows very well, Thor lets out an enthusiastic sound before rising and leading his Lady love to an open corner of the room and starting the steps of a dance she's never seen before (neither has Jane from the looks of it).

A flash of copper hair is all the warning she or Banner get when Natasha is dragging him away from the bottle toward Jane who looks as reluctant as Bruce to be standing in an open corner of the room. Tony never to be out done or out shined downs the rest of his wine and leads Pepper to the impromptu dance floor. They all fall into a strange counter rhythm as they dance (or attempt to in Jane's case) around each other. Natasha is beautiful in her movements and Tony and Pepper have clearly done this before.

Glancing at Steve she inclines her head at Hill who is hiding a smile behind her wine glass at the antics before her. Standing Rogers holds out his hand like he's at some old timey dance hall and with a rueful look Hill accepts (she make a good Yenta and between her and Natasha they might beat some game into Rogers yet). Swaying to the beat of the waltz she bring a basket of garlic bread to the table. The music swells and she gives into the urge to twirl, at the end of her spin a hand cups the small of her back and she finds herself stepping into the rhythm of the one, two three with Bucky leading her. Trying not to make a fool of herself she keeps her eyes on her feet until a finger under her chin brings her gaze up in a silent command to keep her head up. So she allows him to lead, following as best she can-he's a good partner, sure in his steps and occasionally he'd spin her out so that she'd find herself tucked against his side before the steps began anew.

Clint has joined the fray with his bow and is making a fool of himself (idiot.)

When the music ends there is laughter in the room and Bucky's hand at her waist, the cool metal of his hand in hers contrasting with the heat of his body she can feel even at the distance a waltz frame requires. He bring her hand up to his lips and lays a kiss there, eyes lingering on her own, when he rights himself back to full heigh she's not ready for his smile.

It could be because it's the first time she's seen him smile, or because there's a hint of cheeky mischief to it that makes her belief all the lady killer rumors that the history books have always associated with Barnes (so she picked up a book or two, no big deal—she'd read about Cap too) taking a seat, which he'd pulled out for her, she grabs a wine glass and downs the contents before he's settled in beside her.

(Oh God, she was in trouble.)


	6. You Put The Lime In The Coconut

vi. You Put The Lime In the Coconut

The last of her clothes are packed away for the trip to California and she's checking off the list (she's becoming a person of lists, she was adulting—the agony) when J.A.R.V.I.S announces that 'S _ir'_ is at the door and would like entry. Giving the okay to the A.I, Tony is soon strutting into the her room like he owns the place (wait, shit). Leaning against her door frame he follows her with this laser focus that is usually only reserved for science or Pepper's ass (okay and Natasha's too—he'd taken a peek at her rack a time or two, he was reformed but he was still _Tony_ ).

"Boss man, what brings you to my little corner of the castle?"

"Oh nothing, wanted to see if you needed an expert opinion of bathing suit fits." he's moving around because Tony Stark is incapable of standing still, he plays with the baubles by her bed side and picks up a half finish scrap book she's been working on.

"Uh-huh, thanks but no thanks. Pepper already signs my pay checks, hate for her to have to sign a settlement for sexual harassment too." Snatching the album from his hand she cocks her hip to the side and raises a questioning brow—they both know he wants something and she's getting tired of the dance. "Besides, this a business trip." (Not that she wouldn't take the opportunity to take in some sun if it presented itself.)

"Ouch, kid. You wound me." A hand rises and he splays it over where his arc reactor lies beneath his shirt. "So Romanov tells me you and Barnes have been getting chummy."

"Natasha doesn't _voluntarily_ speak with you Tony, try again."

"That is true but only because she's afraid she'll give in the sheer animal magnetism I possess-"

"Tony.

"Alright fine—Capsicle came into the lab to talk few days ago."

"Like, on purpose?"

"I would take offense to that if I wasn't freaked out by it myself. Anyway, he comes in about as subtle as co-ed near cocaine and asks me about upgrading your taser—which is either a weird euphemism or he's being literal" Stark points an finger at her, "So when I ask why, do you know what he says?"

"Oh God, don't tell me—" she lets her tongue peek out to moisten her lips, throat going dry. "Barnes."

"Captain Pecs is concerned that with you spending so much time with Sergeant Booty eventually he'll have an episode and you need a way to bring him down."

"Dude, kinda gay."

"Eh, I went to college."

"Weren't you fifteen?"

"Distraction won't work on me, I've been using those tactics since before you were born."

They square off against each other until Darcy sighs and sits down at the edge of her bed.

"Look, I don't know what Steve is on, but there is no way I can down the Winter Soldier with a taser."

"With your old one, no way in hell. With this though-" He pulls something out a his back pocket, its compact and sleek and he waves it in her face like a dog treat (bastard, she doesn't last long before she makes a grab for it) "Just wanted to give my favorite lab assistant a fighting chance against anyone that might come along." The **again** remains unsaid but its there. "Tested it on Amber Waives of Grain himself, he went down like a sack of shit. It was _beautiful_."

(She doesn't mention she's his only Lab Assistant and even then only in the loosest of terms.)

"Thank you, Tony for that lovely image."

His grin never waivers, still she feels like she should express some genuine gratitude.

"Really, though, thank you."

"No problem. Awesome, okay—I'm not a hugger so lets skip that—bird leaves in twenty. Be ready Lewis, Pepper hates tardiness."

(It's the week from hell and she never does find the time to tan.)

* * *

Watching Assassin movies with actual Assassins was about as much fun as watching Sci-fi movies with Scientists—they did nothing but bitch about the inaccuracies (like she gave a shit) and then launch into lengthy explanations about how it should be done. She'd made the mistake of watching Interstellar with Jane in theaters when it come out, they'd been kicked out by the time they were getting ready to actually launch the shuttle.

When she'd popped in her movie choice of the night she'd been very careful to pick one of the less populated TV rooms so she could have some privacy (and watch her movie with some good old fashioned suspended disbelief—seriously, who are they to be talk) the previews are playing while she open and positions her junk food selection for the night. For most people it would seem like a boring Saturday night, and yeah she's had more eventful ones but after a week of dealing with bureaucratic crap from the Stark Board of Directors Darcy just wanted to veg out with her epic, revenge action movie.

So second drink of the night in one hand (rum and coke emphasis on the rum, it really was a shit week) and a fistful of Twizzlers in the other is how she finds herself nearly a half hour into John Wick—she's seen it before but it was just so damned good. When Keanu Reeves' character rolls over the counter and double taps a mercenary she lets out a triumphant sound and fist pumps.

"Gotta love a man who appreciates the double tap."

"It's effective if you can't rely on good aim."

Whipping her head toward the sound she finds Bucky, arms crossed over his chest (one corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement) looking at her with his head cocked. A Twizzler laden hand comes up to her heart, she can practically hear it pound in her ears.

"Christ on a fucking cracker, Barnes. Pause movie." narrowing her eyes she points an accusatory finger at him "Don't you start critiquing—I got enough of it from Clint when we watched Edge of Tomorrow."

Holding up his hands in surrender position for a moment he stuffs them into the pockets of his sweatpants, which are hanging low enough on his hips for her to catch a glimpse of skin peeking out from beneath the hem of his t-shirt (the cut of his hip bone is not helping calm her heart rate.)

"Just making an observation."

"Well if you think you can manage to keep your observations to yourself then you can join me—if not, then out Mister. This is precious, precious Darcy time that's ticking away here."

"Like a church mouse Ma'am, wont even know I'm here."

(Yeah, some how she doubted that.)

* * *

She'd been stretched out on the couch before his arrival but bends her knees to make a bit of room for him, once he sits she wiggles her toes under his leg with a waggle of her brow and calls out for the StarkTv to let the movie play again. He picks up a bag of Sour Patch kids and studies them intently before popping a few into his mouth, a few more after those too—seems he approves of the taste. John Wick kicks ass and gives no shits about names for another fifteen minutes or so when a cool metal hand brushes against her ankles and she finds her feet deposited on Bucky's lap one at a time.

With a questioning look at her he lets his flesh hand hover over her feet as if asking for permission. Slouching down a little further she hums out her consent, because there is no universe which she will turn down a foot rub. Head leaning back against the arm of the couch she sighs when a warm, calloused hand starts working on her arches in a lazy back and forth motion, turning her attention back to the movie.

Strong fingers dig into a sore spot (she'd been in heels all week and God does she miss her Converse days) and she can't help the whimpering little moan she lets out. Taking that as a sign Bucky pays special attention to the ball of her left foot before switching to the right and paying it the same attention as its mate.

At this point she's not really paying attention the movie, but she can hear the synthesized-trance sounds of Kaleida playing and knows Wick has entered the Red Circle for probably the coolest scene of the whole movie but she could give a fuck. By now her third drink is gone so Darcy lets her arm hang until she can place it on the floor.

(It's a terrible, no good, very bad idea but she's a brave drunk—and typically a horny one too)

Moving slowly so as not to startle him and giving ample opportunity to flee she straddles his waist, letting herself sink into his lap—this close she can feel the sharp intake of his breath and see his adam's apple bob when he swallows thickly. His hands are heavy on her hips, whether to keep her in place or to displace is unclear but her own hands find their way into his hair. Tugging at the strands she positions his face so its looking up at her, his tongue comes out to moisten his lips and those perfectly white teeth bite the plump flesh of his bottom lip.

Leaning closer she keeps her eyes on his, looking for hesitance or discomfort but he seems as eager as she is looking up at with half hooded eyes (that look with fuel her spank bank for years, she's sure of it), close enough that his breath mingles with her own, it smells sugary from the candy he'd eaten she breathes out a question.

"Do you want this?"

His pupils are blown out, the hands at her waist pull her closer so that they are pressed chest to chest.

" _Yes, Ma'am._ "

A broad smile pulls at her lips when she ducks her head to lay a kiss on those pretty lips of his when her phone starts buzzing drawing her out of the moment before she can make contact—the ringtone belongs to her sister, Charlotte—groaning she puts a finger to his lips.

"Hold that thought, Soldier."

Digging her phone from her hoodies front pocket she answers the call in a less then civil tone.

"Charlie, this really isn't a good ti—"

"Dee—"

Something was wrong, Charlotte only ever called her by the childhood moniker when things were bad. Her voice is thick with tears and Darcy can hear the shuddering breaths of suppressed sobs.

"Charlie, what is it. What's wrong?"

"It's Grandpa—Dee Grandpa had a heart attack. He's gone, he—you need to come home Dee."

"I'll be on the next plane."

The call ends without any pleasantries, neither sister can muster the energy for it. Gathering tears burn her eyes, Bucky cups her face between his palms. Alarmed he searches her face for answers but the conversation from he end had been vague and he had been too distracted by the woman in his lap to pay attention to the other end.

"Darcy, what is it? Tell me."

"My grandfather is dead."

His thumbs wipe at her moist cheeks, there's no hysterical crying only the steady flow of tears as they come unrestrained. Bucky brings her into the encompassing circle of his arms and rocks her gently, he offers no words of comfort just his solid embrace and his shoulder for her to cry on.


	7. Bye, Bye Miss American Pie

vii. Bye, Bye Miss American Pie

 _Legs swing to the gentle rise and fall of a Jo Stafford voice accentuated by a horn section—the music is turned down low in deference for the hour, her head is lying on her arms eyes following his movements the occasional sniffle still coming from her._

 _"Now you pinch the edges between your forefinger and thumb, make sure it'll stick to the pan or you'll have a lopsided pie."_

 _Instructions she's heard dozens of time over the years, he makes quick work of handling the delicate dough with a confidence she can't quite manage yet. Grandpa crafted food like some people painted—careful attention to detail and never afraid to try new combinations._

 _"Aren't you going to ask?"_

 _Voice cracking a little mid sentence she breaks the last half hour of quiet they've shared in the early dawn._

 _"Not unless you wanna tell, don't see much point in pushing."_

 _Lapsing into silence again he digs through the pantry for a can of his apple pie filling—all made and stored like he'd learned from the ladies group when he was a kid following his mother around to peddle needle work, work of any kind she could get her hands on._

 _"Christopher Healy broke up with me."_

 _"Ahh, any particular reason why?"_

 _"Cause Susan Peterson is a slut and let him feel up under her shirt."_

 _"Don't let your Grandmother catch you saying that—she'll tan your hide, kid."_

 _He doesn't censure her, he never does—that's why she likes Grandpa John he doesn't treat her like an imbecile just cause she's thirteen. When he'd knocked on her door (no doubt having heard her cry)and seen red rimmed eyes he hadn't asked what was wrong, instead he'd led her to the kitchen and started rolling out pie do he had in the freezer (he always had pie dough handy, like he'd have a pie emergency at any moment). She was meant to stay the weekend with her sisters while her parent took a bit of time away._

 _"I told him I loved him—at the Spring Dance, he said he loved me too."_

 _Pie filled he cuts strips from the dough to criss-cross atop the pie then into the oven the whole thing goes. Wiping his hand on a towel he is standing next to her, finger tips smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg pat her hair back from her face._

 _"Ain't nothing a bit of pie can't fix—you'll have a bite and realize that Christopher Healy is an idiot, but for now if you wanna cry then cry. No one but you and me here."_

 _"Pie for breakfast though, Grandma will scold you again."_

 _"You let me handle Grandma, alright Darcy?"_

* * *

Charlie finds her on the rooftop of the farm house, her grandparents owned a modest sized orchard more for pleasure then business, picking her way carefully to the lip of the roof she sits with practiced ease beside Darcy. Grabbing the bottle from her Charlotte takes a healthy swig, "God, is that moonshine?"

She passes the bottle back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"From Grandpa's stash in the cellar," accepting the bottle she drinks with an unhurried swallow "Remember when we drank the mulled wine in the pantry?"

"Jesus, we were drunk as skunks—Grandpa put us under the hose and sprayed us sober. What was I twelve?"

"Thirteen—I was ten, we were terrible but he never was one for punishment."

"His disappointment face was punishment enough.", snorting Charlie refuses the bottle offered up with a shake of her head.

"Funeral's early in the morning Dee, maybe you might wanna start slowing down—"

"Mhmm." the small vocal response is followed by the capping of the bottle so Charlotte takes it as a good sign.

"Coming to bed?"

"Yeah."

Charlotte puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezes before climbing back down into the house from the open window, Darcy follows a little less sure stepped but makes it into bed just fine. Laying back the burn of moonshine settles in her belly and she reaches for her phone and scrolls to Jane's number but it's late and no doubt she'd have just climbed into bed. Finger hovers over a different number before pressing call. It rings for a long time, nearly giving up she goes to hang up when the voice on the other end calls out a hesitant hello.

"Hey, it's me."

"Darcy, it's 2 am—what's going on?"

"Can't sleep," a little bit of a slur colors her words "S'too quite."

"Been drinking, Lewis?"

"Yup." the end of the word pops with an exaggerated air.

"Shears isn't with you?"

"Nope, perimeter check or something."

Pulling the covers over her still fully clothed body (she's too tired to change out of the jeans she'd arrived in yesterday) Darcy lets her body sink into the mattress. Propping the phone on the pillow against her ear she lets her hands fold over her stomach, glassy eyes starring at the ceiling.

"You sleep at all yet?"

"No. In bed now though."

"Hang on."

Hearing him put the phone down there are muffle sounds coming from the other end and she tries to picture where he is—his voice had a hit of sleepiness to it, so maybe his bedroom? She wondered about it sometimes, would it be spartan and bare or an outlet for his tactile nature with textured rugs and bold colors (a sanctuary).

"Lewis? Still there."

She hums back a reply.

"Rebecca used to have trouble sleeping—my sister. So I—uhmmm—I used to read to her. Can do that for you if you want."

"Read to me?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Alright."

Pages shuffle loud enough and Darcy finds it cute he has an actual, honest to god book (and reminds herself he is actually from the 1940's so it shouldn't be weird). He doesn't clear his throat or make any unnecessary noise—he was always economic with sound as if he wasn't quite used to being able to speak freely.

 _"When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud_

 _And goes down burning into the gulf below,_

 _No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud"_

Steady and strong his voice lilts over the words in a familiar rhythm—it's clearly not his first time reading it. At the beginning of each sentence it almost seems like he is sighing into the words—adding a melancholy inflection to them.

 _"At what has happened._

 _Birds, at least must know_

 _It is the change to darkness in the sky._

 _Murmuring something quiet in her breast,_

 _One bird begins to close a faded eye;_

 _Or overtaken too far from his nest,"_

Not having him physically here is strange, she hadn't noticed how much of her free time was spent with Bucky until she was several states away in a home from her childhood with Agent Shears to guard her since it wasn't like she could bring an actual Avenger along for a protection detail though they had nearly all offered (of course Bruce hadn't but it was more a couldn't then wouldn't case with him).

 _"Hurrying low above the grove, some waif_

Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.

 _At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!_

 _Now let the night be dark for all of me._

 _Let the night bee too dark for me to see_

 _Into the future._

 _Let what will be, be."_

Deep even breaths sound in the line and it takes her a moment to realize it's her—heavy eyes try to blink away the sleep but she is finding it hard to focus, between the moonshine and Barnes' soothing tenor she's half way asleep.

"Didn't know you liked poetry, Sarge."

"Frost had his moments, I'm a Whitman fan myself but Becca loves—loved, Frost." he stumbles over the tense and it's heartbreaking to hear the jerk in his breath when he recalls his sister is no longer alive. "Want me to keep going?

"I'll fall asleep on you soon if you keep going."

"That's the plan, Ma'am."

* * *

Agent Shears drops her off in front of the Tower a week later, once she's in the lobby, carry on slugged over her shoulder, she sees Barnes who is presumable waiting for her—baseball capped and decked out in a pair of jeans and a flannel—he grabs her duffle bag without a word and shrugs it on. She knows there are dark smudges under her puffy eyes that even the dark frame of her glasses can't hide. Without a word they make their way to the elevator.

It comes quick as most things in the Tower seem to function beyond well, pressing the button for a floor he isn't prepared for her to invade his space.

(It was stupid to take chances like this—especially because if he ever did hurt her she was sure it would be the end of whatever this was, no matte how unintentional it might have been.)

Burying her face against the soft material of his shirt she breathes in the smell that is all Bucky (leather, gunpowder and clean soap), looping his arms around her he brings her deeper into his embrace—she's feels so small surrounded by his heat, feels safe (feels like she did when he'd busted her out of that room, safe and relieved to see him). This isn't the time for words and this is coming from her, the woman unable to keep her mouth shut even under threat of bodily harm. She just wants this moment not to end and speaking seems like it would break this closeness between them.

He seems to understand.

He always does.

A hand at the small of her back leads her out of the elevator, it doesn't move away when she exits just remains a light, constant pressure. The kitchen is empty, not uncommon for this time of day but there are signs the others have been there recently; drying bowls and the scent of something sweet in the air. Guiding her to a chair he lets her bag drop lightly to the ground by her feet.

Methodically he places napkins, fork and a glass of milk in front of her and adds a place setting to her right—from beneath a white cloth at the counter he retrieves a pie—it's golden crust is imperfect suggesting it was of the homemade variety. Looking from the pie to him, the careful way he carves out a piece (so aware of his strength and exercising such control) at odds with the footage of the brutal man she'd seen take on Captain America on a random highway.

Placing a still warm piece in front of her he takes the seat to her right as is customary and works on getting his own piece.

"Bucky?"

"Maria got the recipe from that dinner you like—Tasha and Jane grab the apples at a farmers market, cause you always say organic ones are best. Steve did the majority of the work so it should be decent. The others were away but send their thoughts."

"But, why?"

"Ain't nothing pie can't fix right?"

(He remembered.)

"And you, what did you do?"

"Worried, mostly. Waited for you to come home."

Giving him a watery smile she forks out a piece of pie, it's apple, of course it's apple(she can smell the nutmeg and the cinnamon). It's not a perfect pie—someone had gone too heavy handed on the lemon juice and the crust was a little over cooked—but she thought of the Team gathering to make her this pie. Thought of how far outside of Bucky's comfort zone this must have been, of the progress that showed. Wiping away a tear with the back of her hand she digs in with gusto.

She tells him stories about Grandpa John and summer's spent at the orchard. Words keep tumbling out long after the first slice is gone and well into the second one. Bucky never interrupts, occasionally he asks questions to spur on more details, never looks bored—just sits with her eating along with her.

Her heart still weight heavy in her breast, and would for a long time but it would get better.

She was home now and there was nothing pie couldn't fix.


	8. White Castle, Heaven Between Buns

vii. White Castle, Heaven Between Buns

Crouched behind the tree she resists the urge to peek out, instead relying on her sense of sound Darcy waits for a sign—any sign that it would be okay to move forward. A few heartbeats later there is no crunching footsteps or broken twigs so she makes sure her weapon is sitting snuggly against her shoulder and takes careful steps forward, avoid the tree roots and rocks she might trip over.

Left side, clear.

Right side, clear.

She hears three consecutive shots—one from above and two behind her, in a last ditch effort not to be hit she throws herself to the floor. Pain blooms at her left shoulder, right side and her hip, making it hard to breath with some difficulty she flips herself over to look up at the shooters. Copper flavor coats her tongue, she must have split her lip when she fell down.

"What did you do wrong?"

"There's more then left and right" she parrots back before letting her head fall back with a groan, "Ah, Nat—that shit hurts."

"The real thing would hurt more. Spacial perception is key here."

"Yeah, and yours sucks Lewis."

"Fuck you, Clint."

Laughing the archer holsters his paintball gun and reaches down to give her a hand up from the group. Winching she accepts the help, her body is peppered with blue and orange globs of paint—she's sure some of it is in her hair and is glad she'd braided it after all (it'll only take a billion washes to get it all off versus a gazillion).

"Your reaction time is still a little off but hitting the deck was a good idea." Winking at her Clint rolls his shoulders a little before allowing his body to fall into a seemingly relaxed pose, Natasha nodded her agreement before looking down at her watch.

"You survived a half hour this time, not bad."

"Half hour against Master Spies, not too bad for a desk jockey."

"This was fun though—I'd love to get Stark here and fulfill all my fantasies of pulling the trigger on his ass."

"Clint." Two women castigate him but he just shrugs in that devil may care way of his, "It's true."

"Come on, once more."

"Natasha, please have mercy."

Clint has already taken off with a happy little huff of a laugh at the look of horror on Darcy's face.

The ride back to the city is quiet (radio tuned to classical music, their compromise to different tastes), they've been gone for about five hours now—partly because the ride up to the wooded paintball field took about an hour. Clint and Natasha had run her through the gun drills until she was sure she could do it in her sleep, Natasha had come out unscathed but Darcy had clipped Clint's shoulder and rather happy about that.

* * *

On the way back they grab White Castle on 8th street, an amount that had made the cashier's eyes widen as Darcy keep adding to the order (a man behind her was giving her the stink eye no doubt because of the amount of time he'd have to wait for his own order, tough shit—she had Super Soldiers, Gods and a Hulk to feed).

When they reach the Tower, spreading their bounty on the table up for grabs for whenever the other's showed up after J.A.R.V.I.S informed them of the burger buffet, the trio dig into their meals (Darcy has a moment where she questions her sexuality watching Natasha sip at a straw). Clint is telling her about a mission in Cabo—while Natasha will at times correct an exaggeration—when Tony comes in like a whirl wind talking in vague scientific terms while piling his arms with burgers and fries (he assures her he will feed Jane and Bruce so she lets him go without much hassle, it is her day off after all.)

The army bros (which she is still waiting for the right time to christen them to their faces) are rounding the corner, no doubt coming in hungry from a gym session—sunny smile in place, despite the sting of her split lower lip she nearly chokes on a mouthful of cheeseburger.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

It's not the fitted t-shirt, which while nice she had seen the whole shirtless shebang before—it's not even the toothy grin on his face as he and Sam argue over something (it's always something with those two) that Steve looks exasperated over. No, it's the hand running through his hair—hair that looks completely different from last night. It's not the cut she'd seen in old black and white photos but it's not the shoulder skimming locks he'd been sporting since she met him. Instead his hair now must reach just under his ears in the back with a longer front that brushes his cheek before he coiffed it back into placed behind an ear. The beard he'd been forming is now a well kept, trimmed scruff and the hobo chic look is gone and in it's place is this—this (Oh God, there aren't words.)

When he looks at her that toothy grin disappears, for a panicked moment she thinks he's heard her thoughts and is disgusted at how she's drooling over him but his eyes flicker from her face to Natasha beside her (oh no, he's doing the murder strut towards them—where he unfolds the perpetual slouch of his shoulders and his jaw sets, pursing those full lips into a scowl).

The Soldier's sharp gaze scans over her face, she can't think of this look as Bucky's (and hates herself a little for needing the distinction) hand metal hand under her chin tilting her face up, flesh hand pulling at the collar of her shirt where a bruise is peeking out, his thumb brushes against the cut on her lip and she recoils at little at the sharp sting.

She expects his voice to be wrecked with anger from his expression but instead it's cool, pitched lower then she's used to hearing thought that could be because the words aren't in English. Over her shoulder he level a look of pure contempt at Natasha who replies to his words in her mother tongue. This close she can hear the whirl of his left arm, he's getting ready to pull back and the stiff posture he's got going on is pure trouble.

Cupping his face between her hands, pulling him closer (which she can only do because he allows it, she knows that) until she is all that fills his sight she searches his eyes, a frown of her own forming on her delicate brows.

"Bucky, what's wrong?"

From the corner of her eye she sees Steve approaching closer using small, silent steps. Barnes doesn't make to move, the set of his jaw tightens further and his blue eyes drill into her before moving back to Natasha. Mustering up all the strength she can, putting it behind he words Darcy pulls herself closer till they are nose to nose.

"Soldier, walk away—that is an order."

Rigid muscles snap to attention, her own thumb is now tracing the sharp cut of his cheeks.

"Walk away."

Nodding he extracts himself from her hold and walks out of the room—Steve at his right and Sam at his left. Slumping against the table she lets out a breath she hadn't know she was holding—she'd been terrified. Jumping when someone lays a hand on her shoulder she takes in the hard expression on Natasha's face and the way Clint is holding the gun Natasha kept in her boot in his hand.

"Do you have a death wish?"

The tone is all Black Widow, devoid of inflection—impersonal—Darcy feels like a bug under a microscope, one that has been found lacking. Shaking her head no she had not chance to speak before the Widow continues.

"Are you just an idiot then?"

"Nat, back off—this isn't the way."

"Stop talking Barton."

Clint clams up under Nat's cool look but doesn't make a move to leave the kitchen. Green eyes turn back to Darcy who is trying be strong beneath their gaze.

"You don't stand in the way of the Winter Soldier—I don't care what is going on between you and Barnes. He could have snapped your neck in the time it took you to make moon eyes at him."

"So you'd rather I just let him attack you? Of course you would, cause you wouldn't have to deal with the fall out coming from him when he's Bucky again."

"Wake up, Darcy. He is always the Soldier."

"Don't, don't stand there and lecture me about taking a chance when the man who took a chance on you is standing right there. Where would you be without Clint?"

"Clint, show her—"

Standing he is shrugging off his jacket without an argument, Clint palms the back of his shirt and has it off in a smooth move. He's build like the rest of them, strong and muscled but on the leaner side. On his side is an impressive scar, jagged it cuts down and then does a little to the left, almost like an L. Like someone had tried to cut open his stomach.

"I gave him this after being away from the Red Room for three years—he had come at me from behind to put his arm over my shoulder in congratulations after my first solo mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. I reacted."

Sighing she tugs at her red locks, a look of pain is bleeding past the Widow mask (Darcy thinks it might be worse then the blank slate.)

"This isn't a fairy tail, Darcy—you care for Barnes, anyone with eyes can see that, but all the feelings in the world wont wash away seventy years of H.Y.D.R.A programming. The instinct to hit first, hit hard and deal with the aftermath later."

The trio is quiet, Barton is putting his shirt back on, Darcy has her arms around herself—Nat has deflated from the avenging demon she'd been just moment ago.

"W-what did he say to you?"

" _Why have you damaged my Asset._ "

* * *

Barnes spends the day in the dehulking cage in the bowels of the Tower that day—she hears this from Sam because the man himself has been avoiding her like she's disease ridden. In fact she won't see him for nearly a month and only then it's because she's angry enough to finally march herself up to Steve's floor and pound away at the door. J.A.R.V.I.S must have informed the occupants of the room who it is because it's Steve who opens the door.

"Darcy—"

"Where is he, Steve?"

"Look, now's really not a—"

"What? A _good time_? Well then tell me when it is I can pencil myself in for a good time!" her voice is just a few decibels short of a shout but she is past caring—she'd tried to handle this like an adult, she'd called twice, sent a few messages. All left unanswered but marked as seen.

So fuck him.

"James Buchanan Barnes you fucking coward, don't you do this to me."

Eyes widening when she tries to barrel past him, Steve had just enough time to catch her around the middle and keep her from coming in. Her hand clutches at the sleeve of his shirt, nails digging into his flesh—not consciously, he knows that much because they shake from suppressed emotion.

"Let her in, punk."

Steve lets his arm drop, she ducks past him and comes to stand in front of Bucky, small frame quivering (she feels as if she's going to explode at any moment) his eyes still don't meet hers. Instead he addresses Steve again.

"Sam is waiting for you."

"Buck—"

"I'm good, go."

"Alright."

The click of the door signals the Captains departure, there's none of the usual warmth in Bucky's eyes when he looks at her—at her face not her eyes—it's nearly clinical. Stepping up onto the low coffee table they have, because there is no way he is going to look down on her after everything they've been through.

"How dare you. How fucking dare you." hands clench into fists at her side, she's a few inches taller then he is standing on the table and she uses those inches to bear down on him with the weight of her fury.

"I can see what you are going to do—I've seen this fucking movie before. You're gonna tell me to stay away, how you are dangerous and trouble. Well boo—fucking—hoo, we've all got problems."

A bitter laugh comes from his throat, the first reaction he'd had to her presence, "Problems? I was going to cave Romanov's pretty face in—beat my fist against the sweet, tender spot just beneath the eye socket until she choked on her own blood. Wouldn't be the first time I did that too a woman either."

"It's. Not. Going. To. Work." she grits out, "You aren't going to scare me away."

"Then you are an idiot."

"Yeah, well the sentiment is going around."

A shaky hand hovers over his cheek, when she lays her hand down on the rough texture of his beard his eyes finally come up to meet hers and she's floored by what she sees. A storm of emotions, the slim hold of his control.

"Do you know why I was so angry? Why the Soldier reacted so strongly to such minor injuries?"

"Natasha told me—translated what you said. You called me an Asset."

He flinched at the word but doesn't pull back from her touch, if anything he leans deeper into her touch eyes closing, almost as if he can't see it he can pretend it's not happening.

"Asset." the word is spat out, "My Asset. An Asset is _used_ to the advantage of it's handler."

(She's not gonna lie, it smarts)

"And how is it that the Soldier would use me."

"It's not the Soldier you need to worry about, it's the _man_."

Giving into the urge she tangles her fingers through his hair, accustoming herself with the new length—ice blue eyes flutter open, his mouth is slightly agape as he sinks into her touch.

"How would you use me Bucky?"

"I want to take everything you are willing give, I want to lose myself in you." He claws at her back bringing her flush against him, his face tucked into the crock of her neck—lips brushing against her skin with every word, "I want things I don't deserve"

"And so what, you think I can just forget about you?"

"I'm going to chose to do whats right for you. In time it'll go away. It's just infatuation, there is no happy ending here."

"So you'll do to me, what they did to you?"

"What?" Jerking his head up he locks his gaze to her.

"Where is my choice? You can choose to stay away from me, you can choose to never see me again. That's fine, but you can't tell me how I feel."

"Darcy—"

"Tell me, what were you taking when you stayed up all night reading me Robert Frost poems? What where you taking when you let me cry in your arms after my grandfather? What were you taking Barnes, what?"

Her fingers tighten in his hair but she doesn't pull or try to cause him pain—she just needs something to ground her and nothing does that quite like Bucky.

"Now, call me and idiot—fuck, I probably am fighting so hard for someone who clearly doesn't give a shit. But don't cheapen my feelings for you—or those moments I had. Because I refuse to regret them."

Leaning down so their foreheads are touching she closes her eyes, breathing in a shallow breath before she continues—she's emotionally exhausted, not sure how much longer she can keep fighting.

"Let me be here," the other hand unclenches from her side and cups his face so that it's angled toward her, "Let me be your friend." her nose brushes his when she moves back, it's a deliberate action on her part—gathering her courage she opens her eyes (even if it's rejection she wants to see this, needs to see this)

"Let me be _more_."

He doesn't reply, but he doesn't pull back either—Bucky looks torn, his teeth have sunk into his bottom lip and she smiles because here they are again (her hand in his hair, him biting his lips) so she hopes to give him one final push. Drawing closer she leaves just enough space between their lips for her to speak without brushing them.

"Do you want this?"

Exhaling sharply she can feel the corner of his mouth quirking up under the hand she had on his cheek.

"Yes, Ma'am."

It's a tentative brush of lips at first, she doesn't wanna move too fast—doesn't want to scare away her skittish partner but she shouldn't have been afraid because once their lips connect Bucky takes charge of the kiss. The pressure of his mouth is welcoming, his tongue brushes the seam of her lips but doesn't push for her to open—it's like he just wants a taste, a tease—he pulls her clean off the table so that she had to wrap her legs around his waist to keep from dangling like a rag dolls in his arms. Hands splayed on her ass he takes on all her weight like it's nothing (which, duh super soldier but thoughts later, more kissing now).

Pulling back from the kiss (holy shit, the kiss) so she can say something totally witty she finds instead that she is laughing her way through their second one, the meld of his mouth turns needy and he rolls his hips into her, with a little nibble to her bottom lip he finally does release her mouth—pink is tinging the apples of his cheeks and it is not fair that he can be so goddamned sexy and so utterly adorable.

She never stood a chance.


	9. Would You Like Some Coffee With That?

ix. Would You Like Some Coffee With That Sugar?

It's earlier in the morning then she's now used to waking for her run with Maria but later she would be they would all be getting ready for the the annual Stark Charity Ball. It was already in the high seventies and the sun has barely crested over the wide, blue expanse of the ocean, she dresses in a pair of running short—modest in length just past mid thigh and a comfy well worn, off the shoulder t-shirt she slips her feet into her beaten in running shoes and goes off to embrace the day. Tony's Malibu house was smaller then the Tower but it beat having to take a plane for the nights event—plus smaller was relative here.

Now as early as she'd gotten up, the Army Bros (which had grown in ranks since Rhodey had joined them in Malibu) apparently already gone out for their run because she walks in to the kind of talk one would often find at a barrack at breakfast. Sam was finishing up a story which she only caught the tail end of, they are all standing and she pauses before going in because it almost feels like intruding.

"Anyway, she just wasn't the kind of girl to take home to meet Mom—"

"Best kind of girl—" Rhodey is already pouring coffee into mugs, topping them off it looks like as he comments.

"Well if Sam fucks like he runs, I feel bad for the lady."

Unable to keep the bark of laughter from ringing out Darcy rounds the corner and watches the look of horror forming on Steve's face when he realized what she must have hear—it was cute that he thought it was something that would warrant that grimace. Sam and Rhodey know better and are just enjoying the show, but Bucky is caught somewhere between the two reactions—filthier things have come out of her mouth but he was also very much a man out of time when it came to social niceties.

"Which, I suppose begs the question of how exactly do the two correlate?" she winks for good measure.

The laughter is back, Steve is still scratching the back of his neck but has a full blow grin on his face. Hoping on the counter next to the coffee machine next to her—(actually they didn't actually have that talk, file away for later) next to Barnes, she looks for a mug but can't find one when a warm cup is placed in her hand—it has a concerning amount of sugar in it but coffee was coffee. Taking a few sips she passes it back, watching as his thumb rubs small circles into her skin before pulling back.

"Well scientifically speaking—stamina and such." Steve starts in a halting manner, eyes flickering to Darcy as if gauging her reaction.

"Lewis, there you are. You ready?"

Maria saunters into the room (Darcy's grin widens when she realizes the opportunity she had before her, Yenta mode activates) and takes in the group with a neutral expression that Darcy knows is only there because she hates early morning as much as Darcy.

"Just finishing my coffee—then I got distracted by science. Steve's got the most interesting theory on running." innocent as you please she lifts the cup from the counter between her and Barnes to her mouth and sips the sugary liquid.

In classic Hill fashions she turns those laser focus eyes on Steve with a raised brow and her arms crossed. Sam to his credit looks as pleased as she feels—she feels Bucky shift closer and bump her knee with his hip.

"Is that so, Captain?"

Steve manages to choke out "Stamina." suddenly very interested in his cup.

"Oh?"

Why did she not have a camera? She needed a camera, no wait—J.A.R.V.I.S all was not lost because Natasha needed to see this moment. Rhodey looked like he was ready to bail out Steve but Sam gives him a subtle kick to the shin when he open his mouth. She'd have to talk to Nat about including Sam in the Yenta Club.

"Well then maybe one of these days we can test your stamina-" (she could kiss Hill right now) "Even Super Soldiers must have limits, it's good to know your limitations during a mission."

"Yes, Ma'am. If you'll excuse me, Commander—Tony has some extravagant ideas we need to temper down."

"Of course, Captain."

Making a quick exit with Sam by his side, who's shoulder hits Rhodey's in a signal to exit, Steve sends her a look that is half mortified and half exasperated, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye wave she can't seem to wipe the smile from her face.

"Gonna start stretching, finish your coffee and meet me in five."

"I love it when you are so forceful, Hill."

Rolling her eyes the older woman exits the kitchen leaving Darcy and Bucky alone, plucking the mug from her hand Barnes leans down to place a chaste kiss above her scarred brow, hands on either side of her on the counter (he was a few inches too high for her preference, but it still made her stomach clench just from his proximity) he doesn't pull back just lingers.

" _Troublemaker._ "

"So, when am I gonna be able to test your stamina, Barnes?"

Shaking his head he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "You're impossible." before downing the rest of the coffee. When he tips his head back to swallow, showing her that lovely column of throat she can't help but close the distance between them and latch on to the salty skin she finds there.

Teeth graze the large vein of his neck, her hands are sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt to let her finger tips trace them muscles of his abdomen—feeling them flex under her ministrations. His forehead is resting on the crook of her shoulder, his breathing is a little unsteady (she feels like a fucking Goddess). Hopping off the counter she entwines their fingers and gives a squeeze before making her exit, found of having the last word she tosses one last line over her shoulder.

"Going to go evaluate Hill's stamina, now. Let me know when you are ready for yours."

The sound of his quiet laughter follows her out of the kitchen, it makes her just a little giddy.

(She'll need it, running on sand _sucks._ )

* * *

A sharp knock at her door nearly makes her smudge her eyeliner—she would have killed whoever was at the door if she needed to start again—as it was she just needed to make it a little thicker then planned to correct the little flaw.

"Ms. Lewis, Sargent Barnes is requesting entrance."

"Of course, let him in J-man."

Putting the finishing touch of red lipstick she smacks her lips and gives the mirror a saucy grin, she looked good. In a new pair of heels, quickly becoming a favorite (she'd lost her last pair to H.Y.D.R.A, bastards) she tries to emulate Natasha's slinky stalk as she approaches. It's made easier by the fact that Bucky looks like sin in a suit standing in her living area—it doesn't escape her when he drags his eyes from her toes to her head (lingering a beat or two on the girls).

"See something you like, Barnes?"

"Yes, Ma'am—that's a mighty fine afghan."

(Cheeky little shit.)

"Is that a 40's euphemism cause you'd have to explain to me."

"No Ma'am."

"Mhmm, you ready to go then?"

A hand comes up to ruffle his hair, it's a nervous tick that was second only to the oral fixation he had (and yep, there goes the _lip bitting_ ) inching closer to her he nods but theres a tightness to his expression.

"Do you want to go?"

"I'll go if you ask me to."

He'd do as he was told, either because it was what made her happy or because he could steel himself with an order didn't really matter.

"That wasn't the question."

"There will be a lot of people, close quarters—too many entry point, plenty of sniper nests."

"Bucky, you don't have to do anything you don't want too."

"It'd make you happy." he plays with one of her dark curls, avoiding her eyes.

"Yes, but not at the cost of triggering another Soldier episode."

"I'm not ready."

"And that's okay.

(They stay in, order Chinese and she introduces him to Breaking Bad.)

* * *

Watching the monitor she tried to find some trace of him—something that would tell her he was still in there. It's been three day's since he'd been in the dehulking cage—the missions to snuff out a H.Y.D.R.A base had ended up being a trap for the Team, all it took was ten words from what Steve told her. Ten words and Bucky was gone, in his place was the unstoppable force of the Soldier. Natasha had come back with a limp and a black eye but she'd been the one to knock out the Soldier with a combination of her Widow's bit and a syringe of tranquilizer potent enough to down a small elephant.

Biting at her thumb nail she's amazed at the stillness of the figure on the screen, not a muscle has moved since she'd started watching him. Hill is by her side watching Steve sitting across from Soldier, trying to jog him out of this with stories of the past and present. Nothing is working, he does nothing but sit there and stare straight ahead. At least he's calm now, Steve had managed to do that much.

Roger's exits from the room and leaves the screens frame, it's not long before he is in the monitoring room, he looks so worn down—she thinks she must look much the same.

"Steve, let me go in."

She has asked everyday and everyday his answer is no.

"He'll _never_ forgive me for putting you in there, Darcy. Or you."

"I have to try."

"I know.


	10. Need To Break A Few Eggs

x. Need To Break A Few Eggs

Darcy wasn't by nature a particularly patient person outside of the kitchen, she fidgeted and toe tapped her way through inaction (she was a hummer, filling long silences and car rides with ever changing notes as musical whimsy took her), so she tried to emulate herself when waiting for a cheesecake to be ready pull it out too soon or two early and you ruined it.

Patience and observation was key.

Only cheesecake didn't make her feel like mouse cornered by particularly feral alley cat, the slow blinking eyes and the predatory tilt of his head made her realize what an effort Bucky put into being nonthreatening (with his slightly hunched shoulders and unhurried movement), between the powerful build of his body and the unwavering gaze the Soldier put her on edge. Walking in she had not known what to expect (she knew what she hoped and in her mind she could hear Natasha telling her that fairytales aren't real) but the stifling silence was not it.

His eyes ran over her in near mockery of how he'd looked at her the night of the Charity Ball, eyes assessing only instead of admiration it seemed as if he was taking stock of her—whatever it was he was looking for seemed to satisfy him (or piss him off, who knew with the stoicism) and he makes no move to engage her in conversation. A fitted com-link had been placed in her ear by Hill whose hard eyes had made her opinion of this heard louder then any words could so that they had a way of speaking with her—Natasha and Steve had left to argue in the hallway, she had been able to hear the muffled sounds even through the thick door.

Sitting in a lotus position, wrists at his knees in a zen position, the Soldier had kept himself buckled into the restrictive tac gear he had worn to the missions days ago, his hair was lanky from being unwashed but since Barnes had it cut it was less noticeable. Taking a cue from him she seats herself directly across from the Soldier, close enough to touch the glass of the cage between them, but still several feet away, in a mirrored position (only she had her hands clasped in her lap, where they wrung and wriggled tucked away safely).

Crackling to life she winces at the noise the comm makes, closing her eyes against the ringing in her ear she tries not to let it be too noticeable only he must had seen it because in the literal blink of an eyes he is crouched down on one knee close to the glass in front of her—eyes evaluating once more.

"I'm fine—just a headache." Not a total lie, three days of sleep deprivation on top of her work load (which she refused to shirk on because there were people who depended on her) was a sure recipe for a migraine.

 _'Sorry, the frequency was too high—interesting effect though'_ it's Natasha's voice on the link, she's a little surprised until she recalls that the Widow is the expect in interrogation (she is so far above her fucking pay grade right now) and had probably won her argument with Steve. 'Communication is limited like this, touch your hair if the answer is eyes and play with your ring if the answer is no—got it?'

Nervous fingers come up to tuck a bit of stray hair behind her ear to confirm to Natasha that she understood. It was simple enough, natural but she doubts it will go unnoticed by someone as well trained as the Winter Soldier so Nat must simply want her not to break character, to draw his attention back to his surroundings instead of helping him reintegrate into being Barnes again.

 _'Talk, Lewis—same as you would on a normal day'_ the Widow instructs.

"I was thinking of maybe trying the blueberry syrup today—Hill really seems to like it and if the bees ever die off like everyone keeps telling us they are, we are gonna need to get used to syrup." her voice sounds thin but gains strength as she talks—it helps that he's decided to giver his back, which he props against the glass wall, a knee raised and one left stretched out before him. She knows from experience this is the pose Bucky takes when she is going on one of her rants about the Minions—he's settling in to listen, head tilted just the tiniest bit her way.

(It's easier not looking at his eyes to pretend this is just another Sunday talk)

"Thor's in Asgard with Jane, so the bacon may not be quite as good—cause that is a man who can cook bacon—but I'm sure I can talk Clint into making the omelets, you know he likes doing his little circus act with them."

Here Natasha waits for a natural break in her speech pattern and instructs her to, _'Promise him you will bring some tomorrow.'_

"I'll bring you some tomorrow, I'd pinky swear but you know I'm good on my word." Genuine concern rises in her, she doesn't see any discarded dishes or containers and knowing the way he metabolized food she knew he needed quite a bit of it to be comfortable—she wonder if the Solider would eat with the same appreciation for flavor as Bucky or if it was just fuel to him.

* * *

The first batch burns, so she has to start again—there's no music playing, just the clicking sound of whisk to metal bowls—the second pair comes out perfect, she uses Bruce's kitchenette after he'd seen her burn the first patch and suggested some privacy might help. Grateful she agrees, he doesn't hover just leaves her to her cooking, heading back to his Lab. When Natasha enters Bruce's quarters she just sits at the tiny table full of half finished notes, careful not to move them—it's a care that anyone whose been around scatterbrained geniuses will pick up, they all worked in some form of organized chaos.

"Almost done."

Humming out a response Natasha just watches her work on putting the last touches on the pancakes, cutting up the strawberries, her black eye was a thing of the past (healed too quick not to have some kind of aid and she adds it under the ever growing tallies of questions about the Red Room that she had). The blade bites into her thumb leaving a shallow cut, sucking her thumb into her mouth she moves to toss the bloody strawberry out. From a new looking first aid kit, which came standard with all rooms—no doubt Pepper's doing—she pulls out an antiseptic wipe and a bandaid.

"You have to be more careful."

"S'just a cut-" popping the thumb out of her mouth she lets the Widow take a stinging swipe with the wipe and but a bandaid on her (they are Avenger's theme, this one had tiny Cap shields on it)

Giving her a look she goes to the rubbish bin to throw out the wrappings, turning back she steals a strawberry from the cartoon, chewing on it thoughtfully as if choosing her words.

"Lingchi is the art of the slow death, a Chinese practice which wasn't outlawed until 1905—roughly it translates to Death by One Thousand Cuts. Don't underestimate a small cut just because the other's haven't come yet."

"Is this some kind of warning or a pep talk cause honestly I'm a little confused. Could be the blood loss."

Rolling her eyes Natasha just finishes her strawberry, Darcy didn't know why the Widow and Hill had taken her under their wings but she was glad to have them and their rock solid strength. Sure they would never really be normal—what with H.Y.D.R.A and Aliens and Gods, but they reminded her of Charlotte with their quiet understanding and infinite patience with her snark.

"Ms. Lewis, Miss Romanov—Captain Rogers is at the door requesting you."

"J.A.R.V.I.S tell Steve we will be there soon." flicking the stem of her little snack into the bin with expert aim the redhead picks up the tray from the counter (good, Darcy had been afraid she'd drop it cause that was her luck—Nat must have felt similarly) "Come on, showtime."

"Yeah, okay—no sec." Pouring out coffee into two travel mug she feels a little bad about leaving the smell of fresh brewed Joe lingering in Bruce's rooms—she knew how much he missed the daily caffeine intake. Making a mental note to make it up to him she scoops several spoonfuls of sugar into one of the cups and just adds cream to the other.

* * *

Ear piece in place, tray balanced precariously in her arms she approaches the hand off window of the cage—where items could be passed through, presumably food for when Bruce was coming down but still on edge and needed food.

"Morning Soldier-"

She been instructed not to call him by name , Steve had tried that last night and the Soldier had thrown a massive temper tantrum (Hill's words). The room was a little roughed up, the cot they had put in for him was a mess of mangled metal—the mattress laid out on the floor now with the sheets tucked into corners with Military precision.

"Breakfast as promised."

 _'Take a bite of the each item and drink from the cup before you give it to him'_

Picking up the plastic fork—which had brought another round of argument from Hill, Rogers and Nat about the dangers of handing it to him—she cuts into a fluffy pancake with the side making sure to grab a strawberry with it and honey and takes a healthy bite from the each of the stacks she'd made to accommodate a Super Soldier's appetite

"Just so you don't think there is any funny business."

Making a face she brings the travel mug with his coffee to her lips, giving him a look of exasperation before taking a sip of the too sweet liquid, "Ugh, I swear I don't know how you drink that. It's a crime against coffee" making a face she screws the cover back on before putting it in the little drawer too.

Closing the drawer she waits for him to gather the meal, only he doesn't move from his place—a few more minutes tick by before she recalls how skittish Barnes had been around people and food that first breakfast they shared together nearly a year ago. Leaving the food she makes her way to the other side of the cage, where she had been seated before and sits down in the lotus again—pulling out her phone she ignores him. Finally he grabs the food, a quick glance up tells her he's tearing into with the quick efficiency of someone unused the luxury of savoring food.

In record time he's done, he leaves the items in the drawer—which is a score for Team Steve—closing it with a more forceful shove then necessary. Purposeful strides bring him to the spot he'd occupied yesterday (she tries not to note the way his legs look as he walks closer or how his tongue is licking away a bead of honey from the corner of his mouth—it was hard because a few weeks ago she had been kissing those lips). Taking a sip from her cup she gesture with it at his own, unscrewing his lid he takes a sip and for a moment she can see his lids flutter briefly, Barnes was a sucker for coffee and his body remembered if not his mind.

"I'm a little concerned about how fast you ate that—am I losing my touch? Should I just go buy breakfast instead of making it myself later? Those bites reminded me how hungry I am." her tone is light, mostly because what she was saying is true—she wasn't shy about her love of food and she'd forgone breakfast due to nerves.

The Soldier gives her look she doesn't understand from the corner of her eye, but she powers through with her chatter—filling in with all the goings of the Towers, tells him about the Minions and how they had an on going prank war that she was torn about stopping but knew it would escalate to some catastrophe. Their hour is up and standing to leave is easier this time, Nat gives her some final instructions.

 _'Ask him if he wants you to come back.'_

"Same time tomorrow? Unless you're tired of having me talk your ear off—it's just you're a good listener with the whole, silent and deadly thing. I won't come back if you don't want me to—you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Come back."

(Hope flutters in her heart.)

* * *

Steve comes to her office, Karen is beside herself no doubt from the IM she sends with it's multiple exclamation points and a winky face. Giving the okay for him to come in, because despite her exuberance Karen was a professional of the highest caliber and would bar even Cap if she'd said no (best secretary ever), it's a few seconds before he comes in—closing her door behind him. They don't speak for a a few moments, while he doesn't have the dark circles under his eyes like she had Darcy sees the exhaustion mirrored in his gaze.

"Have you slept at all, Steve?"

"About as much as you—"

"Touche."

"Seems like a hollow victory."

It seems like he's about to try to plaster on a smile before he gives up, leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands—this is her office, touches of her personality are found in every corner but still she feels like she's intruding on the normally unflappable man.

"Steve, it's not your fault—you can't possibility be blaming yourself for this."

"I took him on that mission, it was my call on what operatives to bring. My call."

"Steve."

"It's worse then when he fell—because if he was dead he would at least have an end. Now he's just there."

Before she knows it she's standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder, he looks up and those thick lashes of his are clumping with gathering moisture. Enveloping him in her arms as best she can Darcy lets her head drop on his shoulder—allowing him some privacy to show his grief—rubbing his back she encourages him to let it out with the support of her silence. He didn't want words, nothing she could say would make any of this better for either of them but to some degree she understood what he was going through.

"And despite having him here, seeing how calm he was—how well he was adjusting do you know I resented you? I had just gotten my best friend back, and in waltzes some dame who spins his head—makes him act like his old self, makes me obsolete. Even now, as the Solider, he responds to you and a part of me wants to be angry with you. How can I though, with your smiles and your care—you are impossible to hate. "

Shame colors his words and his arms are nearly too tight around her. How had she not seen it, was she blind to Steve's feelings? Yet, she couldn't regret the time she'd spent with Barnes, would never regret it because in the end it really had fuck all to do with Steve. Her first instinct is to fight back, to rip into him with her sharp tongue but then she thinks back on the afternoon he'd spent drawing doodles on her cast, the taste of the apple pie he'd baked for her.

Pulling back she lets go of him, turning to grab a tissue for herself and for him, "I'm not going to take your place, I could never." he takes it without meeting her eyes, "I consider you my friend, Steve—and Barnes would go to hell and back for you. I'm not selfish enough to think I could ever be the only person in his heart, but I do hope we can learn to share his time, because I am not backing off. Not unless he asks me too."

"God, no—please, I don't want that. It's all coming out wrong. You are my friend and Bucky deserves to be with someone like you. I just, needed to clear the air, I tend to attack my problems head on. Should of maybe though this one through a bit better—I'm shit at improve speeches, they never let me off script on the USO tour."

Laughing she wipes her eyes, the sound comes out a little hysterical but they both ignore it, "Well, Rogers, as your friend I gotta tell you. Easy on the lemon juice next time, other wise it was a great pie. Did I ever thank you for that?"

"It was my pleasure."

"Now, about you asking out Hill."

"Darcy, no."

"Darcy, yes."

* * *

Entering the cage area with Steve at her back they've decided to tag team the Soldier this time, trying a new strategy they'd discussed in her office. Immediately the Soldier rises and makes his way to the drawer, he glances sharply at Steve—who for his part does nothing but smile lightly, pleasant as always. Metal fingers tap at the drawer, which can only be opened from the outside.

"Sorry, Soldier—no chow today. I was running late, didn't even get any myself but I'm sure we can find you something if you are hungry." He taps again at the drawer.

"Alright, alright—you know using your big boy words would work better." pushing the drawer to the other side she watches him grab something from the pocket of his pants, she can't see what it is because he drops it in the drawer and pushes it back out. Gingerly she opens the drawer and raises a brow at him when she picks up a protein bar.

"Eat."

"Did you save this for me?"

He nods and glances at Steve as if she shouldn't be sharing information around him and she resists the urge to wince—how would she feel if the roles were reversed, no wonder Steve had been so shock up between the lack of sleep and over thinking all of this.

"What about you, aren't you hungry."

He just repeats the earlier command and goes to sit in their regular corner, looking down at the protein bar, it's a little warm from his body heat she tries to puzzle out the why to this. But Natasha in her ear has already figured it out.

 _'You told him you hadn't eaten, so he is rationing for you.'_

How often had Bucky done much the same, make sure she was feed because between taking care of R&D and keeping the Science Triad alive she often forgot her own meals and when she did Barnes was always there with a protein bar or an apple, some little snack she could have that would trigger her appetite to life and she'd go searching for food—often making them both or the Team dinner.

For this session she and Steve had brought supplies, he set up a little away from the two of them where he had a vantage point to draw and took out his sketch pad and pencils. Darcy settle against with her back against the glass instead of facing him—making sure her head was turned toward him same as his was turned toward hers. Out of her bag she pulls out a book, protein bar unwrapped and held between her teeth, opening it to the bookmarked page. A little nervous about this part she faces the Soldier and makes sure he sees her take a large chunk out of the protein bar, with a wink she brings her knees up to support the book—chewing and swallowing before she speaks.

"Thought you might like some entertainment?" posing it like a question she waits for his permission, it was important, Natasha had told her, that he feels like he has choice—that it's impressed upon him, because weapons didn't get to chose and he needed to be reminded he was more. That stiff nod comes against and she takes a deep breath before starting.

 _TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over,_

 _(From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,)_

 _Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past;_

 _From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past;_

 _From the chants of the feudal world—the triumphs of kings, slavery, caste;_

It takes a moment to find the right rhythm for the words, she stumbles over a few of them but by the second stanza she's got a good flow going.

 _Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv'd and to come—give up that backward world;_

 _Leave to the singers of hitherto—give them the trailing past;_

 _But what remains, remains for singers for you—wars to come are for you;_

 _(Lo! how the wars of the past have duly inured to you—and the wars of the present also inure:)_

After the night at her grandparent's orchard when she found out he liked Whitman Darcy had bought herself a copy of Whitman's work recommended by the woman who worked in the bookstore she had visited. This particular piece was highlighted because it reminded her of Bucky—the message resounded with her.

— _Then turn, and be not alarm'd, O Libertad—turn your undying face,_

 _To where the future, greater than all the past,_

 _Is swiftly, surely preparing for you_

"Whitman."

"Your favorite, would you like to hear another?"

"Yes."

* * *

It goes on like that for a few more days, Darcy and Steve switch between reading or sharing stories—or bantering playfully between themselves. The Soldier doesn't join in but sometimes a phrase bring a glimmer of recognition to his eyes or he finishes a story Steve is telling. She convinces him to stop giving her protein bars by bringing down breakfast for the three of them—he always watches her eat before eating his own once he's satisfied she's eaten enough.

(It would be endearing if not for the situation.)

Until one day she is telling a story about getting kicked out of a movie theater with Jane because of her constant bashing of the film, because god damn it she had spent like twelve dollars on those tickets and she really wanted to see the movie and he is just back. Steve had made a face when she mentioned the pricing of tickets and launches into a grandpa story about 'his day' that has her rolling her eyes when she sees the expression on the Solider's face—on Bucky's face. Looking at her face like he's trying to memorize her.

"Darcy?"

Kneeling in front of the cage she lays her hands on the glass for support because her knees are weak with relief, she hears Steve moving to the front of the cage, working through the codes to open it. His clumsy fingers fumble the codes twice before Natasha is in the room taking over for Steve.

"It's about goddamned time, Barnes" she calls out, she has the syringe in hand because neither Darcy or Steve can be trusted when it comes to the Soldier—they are invested, so Nat will gauge him to see if he should be let out. "Any longer and I would have killed you myself if only to stop the two of them from talking."

"Sorry, Romanov—I'll try to keep a better schedule next time I lose my mind."

"Least you could do." she steps to the side, allowing him passage when he makes to leave the cage.

Steve is there to embrace him in the man hug to end all man hugs (we are talking two arms here), holding herself back she allows Steve to have his moment, though it takes everything she has not to run to Barnes. When they pull back she notes that his eyes seek her out, follow her movements in a less intense version of the Soldier as she approaches, she can still see him there though—dormant now, but just under the surface.

Stepping closer he looms over her, his posture still the straight backed confidence of the Soldier—not quite returned to the laid back slouch yet—the tac gear is smooth against her cheek, she falls into his embrace hearing the strong thrum of his heartbeat. Wrinkling her nose she disentangles herself from him, on tip toes she lays a quick kiss to his lips and backs off when he follows her in hopes of deepening it.

"You need a shower before we go anywhere near this train of thought Bucky."

"Yes, Ma'am"


	11. Heart To Hearts And Hangover Cures

xi. Heart to Hearts and Hangover Cures

Hill turns down a drink from the waitress, her second one of the night that had come from a 'gentleman at the bar'. The waitress seemed to be taking it in good spirit, no doubt the staff were having a good laugh about it. The score now stands with Natasha at four (vodka martinis), Pepper coming in close behind at three (vodka martini with extra olives) and now Maria (gin and tonic) had tied with Darcy (old fashioned, splash of cherry juice) and Jane with one (Tequila Sunrise) all ordered by men hoping for an introduction. Pepper had taken them out for a much needed girl's night, claiming they lived and worked around too much testosterone. Considering who and what they all dealt with she wasn't wrong.

Curiously she peeks at the man who'd sent Hill the drink, four years ago she would consider him handsome. That standard had risen ridiculous high since New Mexico. He takes it gracefully when his drink was declined, merely salutes Hill with his own and turns back to his buddy. Taking a sip of her drink, perfectly smooth in a way that screamed expensive whiskey, she turns to the women.

"That one seemed nice, why not bite Hill?"

"Not my type."

Natasha jumps on the answer (beat her by two seconds, two seconds) leaning on the table closer to Maria.

"So you have a type?"

As if sensing her mistake Hill narrows her eyes, chin jutting up so she can look down at Natasha. Pepper—bless her—defuses the tension with practiced ease.

"Don't we all? Clearly megalomaniac is mine."

Darcy snorts softly into her drink, Jane just nods solemnly in agreement. (There was a betting pool among the Minions as to when Jane would snap and kill Tony, which she of course took no part in. Alright so she had twenty bucks riding on December 2019).

"Uhmm, I guess I like _tall_ men—"

"Hardly a feat for you Janey."

Shrugging slightly she seems satisfied with her answer.

"What about you, what lures in the infamous Black Widow." Hill questions, turning the tables on Natasha.

Taking a moment to consider her words Natasha surprises them all by answering in a straight forward fashion. "Soft eyes." Sharing a bit of herself wasn't uncharacteristic for the Widow anymore, just uncommon.

The last of Hill's defensive posture seems to deflate with that. "I'm an arm girl, give me a good bicep and I'm inclined to accept drinks. And he is a little on the scrawny side."

"That's only because you compare him to the men we know. We live with super buff dudes with model good looks—you're being kind of unfair to the rest of the male population." Darcy interjects wisely, "I mean who has a better set of guns then _Rogers?_ "

 _Gotcha._

A look of immense pride comes over Natasha's face, well she had been taking lessons from the best on the art of integration and misdirection.

In a move too graceful not to be measured Maria turns to Darcy, crossing her legs so she faced the younger woman. "I hardly think Barnes would appreciate hearing that." It's strange to be openly speaking about her thing (ugh it was still a thing, she really needed to pin him down for a talk about this) with the ex-commando and sometimes Winter Soldier.

"Bucky has the best legs, like—have you seen those _thighs_?!"

Pepper murmurs appreciatively, Jane blushes and looks away which is a sure sign she's checked them out. (Hey, fair is fair she'd oogled Thor enough times before the brotherly feeling set in). Natasha shrugs in that casual way of hers which says nothing and everything.

Hill just laughs, head tossed back and relaxed.

Pepper was right, they needed this.

* * *

"Sargent Barnes, pardon the interruption but Captain Rogers is requesting your assistance down at the garage."

The A.I interrupts the flow of his kata by only a half second but it's enough to bring a frown to his face, being precise had been key to survival for too many years—it was engrained in his mind, he thinks it was that way even before H.Y.D.R.A. He had a sniper's calculating logic, every squared had it's hole and every move its measured meaning.

Except for her, he couldn't find where she fit yet.

Pivoting on the ball of his left foot he completes half of a take down move that was the specialty of this particular style, completing the kata's final move he rights himself—not bothering with shoes he walks lose limbed out of the gym. Without someone to accompany him he prefers to take the stairs—they would never wind him—being along in the enclosed metal space of the elevator just hit a little to close to home, to similar to cryo.

Claustrophobia his therapist called it.

The fear of enclosed spaces, but the Asset is meant to be fearless—what use is a weapon with limitations? As much use as one who asks questions something in him says, some dark corner of his mind. Squashing down the anxiety that voice brought, a familiar voice that had told him he'd shaped the century, he takes the steps down two at a time.

J.A.R.V.I.S opens the sliding doors for him, the glass is thick, bullet proof—he could take it down in twenty minutes, he needed to speak to Stark about that structural weakness—the garage is full of vintage and modern cars, he knows the specs of most of them. How to tear them down, which spot to shoot to cause the most damage.

Heading toward the sound of feminine laughter he finds Steve half sticking out a sleek, black car—the driver, Hogan is on the other side helping out the Potts woman who is tottering on her impractical heels. Stark's lover, she reminded him of Sarah Rogers, a no nonsense woman who would offer up warm smiles and sound advice.

Natalia— _Natasha_ —is leaning against a pillar, clearly amused by whatever was going on.

"But _Steeeeeeve—_ " tucked against Steve's chest, Darcy is struggling to hang on to the car door resisting the gentle pulls of the arms draped around her waist. Something dark, possessive rises in his chest at the picture they make, he knows Steve has no interest in his Ass—in Darcy but it would make sense for a girl to pick Steve.

What did a man who struggled to recognize his own name have to offer.

Nothing, says the voice.

Another cries out his name, "Bucky!" and then he has an armful of soft, lush woman pressed against him.

Bright eyes, rimmed with just a touch of red from too much liquor, look up at him as if he is something—someone—worth looking at and he thinks he will falter under her gaze but remains upright, steady—she can't be trusted to hold herself up right now, he could be her strength.

He understood that.

"Oh thank God, Buck—thing you can manage getting Lewis to her room?"

Steve's face is awash with relief, another dark haired woman is hanging off his arm—takes him a moment to placed the relaxed posture of the woman as Hill—when Hill leans closer to Steve, whispering something only he can hear the blonde man turns a shade of red that takes away the lingering edge of animosity that had clouded his thoughts just moments ago.

Stevie was hopeless with women.

"Of course punk—think you can handle Hill?"

Shaking his head his enhanced hearing can make out the Jerk he sends his way before Darcy's Doctor Foster is tucked under his other arm. Natasha seems to take pity on Steve and takes hold of Foster, most wouldn't notice but the Widow was completely smashed as well—just better functioning then the rest.

Giving his full attention to the woman in his arms, the corner of her mouth was tinted a faint red from where her lipstick had smudged, he feels his lips pulling into a smile. It's not forced, or practiced or there because he knows it should be, it's just there because the color is high in her cheeks, pupils dilated with sexual desire.

"Think you can stand long enough for me to get you on my back?"

"Mmmmm, yes—but wouldn't it be more fun with me on _my_ back? I'm totally equal opportunity though."

"I'll remind you of that in the morning. Now get on."

He's kneeling down, back facing toward her—the Soldier always fought against having anything at his back but she was no threat, she cared for them, feed them, wanted them a voice supplied—he rises when her weight is on his back and her arms around his neck.

It's vulnerable position for them both, her thighs are gripped by his hands and he knows no less then ten ways to permanently harm her in this position.

"Oh Bucky, you're _so_ strong." giggling at her own words she lets her chin rest on his shoulder, breath tickling the tender skin beneath his jaw.

"J.A.R.V.I.S, you recoding this?"

"Yes Sargent Barnes."

"Perfect."

* * *

Mouth feeling like she'd licked the inside of a linty pocket—complete with mystery after taste—Darcy greets the morning with a groan. Rolling over, burrowing deeper into the sheets she notices a few things are amiss. The sheets feel different—thinner and a little coarse-and the sun was coming in from the wrong side of the room, her bedroom window didn't face the east. And finally, she was wearing a t-shirt she didn't recognize.

Everything about this screamed ' _you had sex_ ' only she didn't have the pleasant soreness between her legs and something told her when you fucked a Super Soldier you felt it in the morning. When the door swings open she lets out an undignified squeak of surprise pulling the sheets up to her neck, which is when she notices how her breast bounce up, free of her bra.

Barnes walks in carrying a tray, it smells like food and her stomach both lurches and rebels—the joys of hangovers. Setting the tray down on the bed he sits at the end near her legs, picking up a glass of o.j and two white pills he holds them out to her.

"This should help, over did yourself last night I think."

Grateful for his forward thinking she drops the sheet in favor grabbing the items he's passing over., a little embarrassed she pulled the up to begin with. The juice helps wash away some one the gross taste from her mouth but her teeth are still a little fuzzy when she runs her tongue over them.

"Thank you...I..we...uhmm, we didn't."

Cocking his head Barnes just looks at her questioningly (if he was faking this shit she was gonna kill him, she was in no mood to be fucked with—oh you know what she means).

"Didwehavesexlastnight?" It comes out in a rush of speed that leaves her a little dizzy.

"No. You're out of your clothes because you refused to go to sleep in your dress. I gave you clothes, you changed into them yourself. Honest Ma'am, no funny business."

Laughing at the scandalized look on his face she can't help but lean forward and kiss those pursed lips, he's receptive of it—a little too receptive considering she still had morning mouth.

"Good, you're too classy for a drunk lay. I'll do right by you Barnes."

Biting his bottom lip in a familiar gesture of nerves he lets his gaze drop when she winks at him, she knows it's not because he's an untouched maiden—the history books never shied away from mentioning his lady killer ways—so she can only conclude that it's Darcy Lewis that makes him nervous.

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

"Nah, I'm an equal opportunity kind of woman."

"Oh, I remember."

There's no shyness in his gaze when he says that, instead he's looking her dead in the eye—leaning closer until he's on his knees crawling over her. A little shock she just leans back until she's got him hovering over her body, hair falling messy and damp from a shower no doubt. He was gorgeous, he was so close—shit this was happening.

"You said it would be more fun with you on you back." His lips are trailing kisses down her neck, her hands are white knuckled on the sheets. "Right after I caught Stevie trying to _pry_ you away from a car door."

"What?"

In a falsetto voice he whispers in her ear "Bucky, you're _so_ strong."

"No, I didn't."

Rolling off of her, careful not to jostle the tray, he lies back among the pillows with a teasing grin on his face.

"Oh yes you did. J.A.R.V.I.S had video proof. I made sure."

Taking a pillow she shoves her face in it and prays for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. And the bastard starts laughing, full belly laughs that shake the bed. Unable to resist she looks at him, his eyes are bright with mischief and a charming smile is on his face and Darcy thinks this is the most like the Bucky from the old films he has ever resembled.

Dragging the tray closer she starts picking at the food with her fingers (scrambled eggs, toast and fresh sliced fruit—he's a keeper) not bothering with utensils for now she pops a strawberry half into his mouth.

Fucking tease lets his tongue run along the pad of her finger.

"Bucky?"

"Mhmm?"

"What are we?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are we friends that share some pretty stellar smoochies? Or is this a thing? Like a exclusive—relationshipy thing? Cause if this is meant to be casual and fun I think the train left the station awhile ago for me."

(Good job, Lewis. You used words in english at least.)

Propped up on his elbow his bionic hand reaches out to play with a strand of her hair, he seems to be taking her words. The silence is uncomfortable for the first time she's been with him, she's invested in this damn it—what if she should have just well enough alone? Was it wrong to expect something like commitment from someone like Bucky? A thousand questions float in her head, triple as many ways he could be thinking of letting her down easy.

"This isn't casual."

"Okay."

"Calling you my girl has been on the tip of my tongue since you stood on that coffee table and beat sense into me."

"Oh."

"Would that be okay, if you were my girl?"

"Yeah, yeah that would be okay."

They spend the rest of the morning stealing bites of a cold breakfast between kisses, clothes stay on because she knows he doesn't trust himself with that yet but it's a hell of a way to beat a hangover.


	12. Gun Oil and Strudels

xii. Gun Oil and Strudels

Darcy popped a blueberry into her mouth (he resists the urge to reach into her mouth and make her spit out and untested food) and gave a little sigh of satisfaction before she began chatting with the vendor, he wasn't particularly tuned into the conversation. Instead he was taking stolk of their surroundings—open market places weren't secure in anyway but it would be easy enough to lose anyone in the crowd forming early on Saturday morning.

Six tents down a fish vendor was handling a blade with loose, practiced wrists. The gleam of the blade in the sun puts him on edge, instinctively he leaned further into Darcy's space—her hair is up in a messy ponytail and her strawberry stained fingers reach out to curl around his gloved hand for a moment before she's digging into the pocket of her jeans for bills.

The touch centers him, brings him out of the haze of assessing, a habit of the Soldier which was too ingrained to turn of voluntarily.

Slung over his right shoulder were several bags filled with produce and fruits, Darcy had argued on carrying some of them (her brow scrunched and nose wrinkling drawing his eyes to newly formed freckles that the summer brought) it had been a valiant effort but she didn't stand a chance. So she'd pouted, crossed her arms (then _he_ made the valiant effort of keeping his eyes on her face) and relented.

Darcy lifts on to tip toes to tuck the carton of blueberries in one of her bags the swaying hem of her sundress brings a flash of a woman falling to her knees, hem swaying as the blood from her husband's corpse soaked into the fabric from the sight of his scope. A thumb is stroking his neck just below the jaw when he refocuses, blue eyes search his face (they are shadowed with a concern he has no comfort for).

She smiles when he gives her his full attention, he finds himself mimicking the gesture more easily, her fingers find their way back to his (entwining in a familiar motion) and she's tugging him away from the stand and from dark thoughts.

The ride back to the tower is mostly taken up with her recounting her finds (despite him being present) as if it was a treasure hunt, the radio is turned down low and fills the small gaps where the conversation falls into a lulls. He finds he doesn't have many words, some days are like this where years of near mutism forces itself to the forefront. He still has trouble finding words on the best days but they usually flow smoother around his Asset.

No, Darcy, she was Darcy.

(To much of the Soldier was present, the numbing silence of this persona was soothing in a way. It took away the pain from frayed memories and half remembered horrors. But he couldn't allow himself to fall too deep.)

 _His_ Darcy, he settles on.

With murmured sounds of acknowledgement he spurs on more words from her, grateful she doesn't push or try to pry out words, until they pull into the garage of the Tower. Unbuckling himself quickly he is gathering bags from the back before she can get any ideas about carrying them.

"Thanks for coming with me," She's playing with the ring on her middle finger, he'd catalogued that as a nervous tick months ago, looking up at him behind the frame of her red glasses (the color contrasting with the pale skin of her lids and the blue of her eyes). "It was nice to be out with you."

Leaning over he places his lips at the edge of the scar cutting through her brow and remembers with grim satisfaction the burrowing holes his bullets had left in the skull of her kidnappers. The words come then, his voice sounds raspy even to his ears.

"Anything for you, Doll."

With a huff she pushes down the brim of his baseball cap but it doesn't distract him from the blush blooming on her cheeks, she flushed so easily with her pale skin (so frail looking with her blue veins standing out beneath her flesh but he knows she has an iron will).

"You're such a dork, Barnes."

Not Bucky today, good. He doesn't feel like Bucky.

He's starting to realize though, that all of him feels like they are _hers._

* * *

With his back pressed against the edge of the bed he works on taking apart a Glock 17, he can assemble and disassemble one in under five seconds but takes his time now. Gun oil soaks the rag at his side, he's meticulous about the care of his weapons (he's not meant to have them but the tower is full of niches to hide weapons, he takes advantage).

The room smelled of her scented candles and perfume when he'd soundlessly opened the door, she'd assigned him residence status to her rooms in the event of emergencies, and creeped into the room with the Glock and cleaning kit.

Now her room had an underlain scent of gun oil.

His hands don't stop the task, don't stumble over reattaching the barrel, until the gun is clean and shinning even in the dim moonlight. Once he is more centered, has allowed the monotony of gun care to soothe his worry, he rises to loom over the sleeping form of the young woman whose so unaware of the dangerous presence in her room.

Taking care not to jostle her out of sleep, he knows she has work in the morning—responsibilities, friends, a wonderful budding future ahead of her—and doesn't wish to disturb. All the care seemed for nought because almost instinctively she seems to rolls over to him, seeking out his body heat maybe, and blinks away sleep with heavy lids.

Draped over his left shoulder, the tips of her fingers sneak under the hem of his shirt to ghost over the his stomach, her cheek is pillowed at the crock of his neck. When her warm body curls into his side (she enjoys this position, it's distinctly feline he thinks for a moment) she sighs as if content. It's not the first time she's woken to him in her room and Darcy has taken it in stride from the go—some nights he needs to know she's safe (that she is _real_ ) so he will keep vigil at her side.

Darcy is drawing nonsensical pattern onto his flesh, geometrical shapes, the crude shape of a five petaled flower and then her fingers rise and she's spelling out his name over his heart (it takes him till the second time to piece together the letters). Over and over she traces the name as if she wants to engrave the words.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asks (she asks every time, giving the opportunity but never demanding an explanation) and when he doesn't reply she just places a lingering kiss to his temple.

Then his cheek.

Finally she's propped up on an elbow and brushing her lips along his. It's chaste and sweet, nothing like the searing kisses they've shared before—it's a kiss of comfort. She'd not awake for much longer, silence and his steady heart beat lulling her back to sleep (he wonder for her sense of preservation that she can sleep so easily cuddles against his bionic arm). He tangles his hand in the dark mass of her air and keeps vigil over her slumber.

* * *

A bit of bourbon is poured over the raisins before she sticks the bowl in the microwave for a little under a minute. Diced apples are already in a larger bowl with brown sugar, spice and lemon juice. With a beep the microwave lets her know the raisin are done and soon she's dumping them into the mixture. There's a hop to her step when she is rolling out the puff pastry she'd left in the fridge that had been prepared a few days ago.

Erik was on his way to New York for Jane's birthday, she'd missed the older scientist (she kept contact as best she could but since Loki he wasn't the same, distant and distrustful of everything but well on his way to recovery) so she was making strudel for his visit.

Rolling strudel was delicate work and she'd only made it a few times before, but Darcy was determined to have it come out perfect. Erik deserves a little perfect in his life, even if it was just from nostalgic pastry.

Leaving the pastry to cool out of the oven with a clean dish towel draped over it and a note promising bodily harm to whoever even thinks about stealing Erik's special made strudel she goes off to change for tonight's soiree. The party is meant to be a low key cocktail and dinner combination but she knows that low key isn't really part of Tony Starks vocabulary and Thor happens to have a little bit of a skewed idea on it too.

So after showering she dons a little black number, it has delicate lace work for sleeves, waist cinched in with a slim red belt and reaches just above the knees, along with her pair of red pumps that her calves look amazing. Putting in her contacts, blinking away the gathering moisture she applies a liberal coat of mascara. Slicking lipstick over her lips with careful strokes as a final touch Darcy puckers up and send herself a kiss in the mirror.

She had a Super Solider waiting in her living room and they might actually make it to the party this time.

They do make it to the party, but she'd forgotten about _Ian._

* * *

A/N: Thank you all who reviewed and favorited this story! I'm so glad there is some love for WinterShock in this fandom. I'm always so happy to hear from you guys, so please leave a comment or just a smiley face if you must! I know it'd make my day.

Also, stay tuned to this channel for more WinterShock to be posted!

OH! And a special shout out to CompassRose88 who inspired me to get the next chapter out.


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